


The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat

by Paolox3



Category: South Park
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, Healing, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Personalities, Mystery, Nonbinary Character, POV Kenny, POV Kyle Broflovski, Romance, Science, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Superheroes, Temporary Amnesia, Time Loop, Time Travel, metaphyscial, omnipotent being
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-02-08 08:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 40
Words: 323,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paolox3/pseuds/Paolox3
Summary: After a devastating car accident kills one South Park High School student and severely injures another, 'Immortal Beloved' Kenny McCormick begins reliving Craig Tucker's first day back at high school several times. As that day resets each time that Kenny dies, he tries to make it better - and fails. Then a freak accident which kills Kenny sends him leaping back through time into his almost-thirteen year old self. Realizing that he now has nearly four years to prevent the tragedy, instead of only a few hours as he did when it first happened, Kenny begins changing the future to prevent the accident. Time ends up fractured, and suddenly, history begins to change in BOTH directions. It isn't long until Kenny finds himself a stranger in a strange land, with no idea of what's going to happen next. Some who died are brought back, while others who didn't die, do. To complicate things, Kenny's tampering gives rise to a real-life Superhero as well. But Kenny isn't the only one who seems to be trying to put right what once went wrong, and save the lives of his other friends. There's just one problem: is his new time-traveling ally trying to help Kenny, or stop him?





	1. I Remember You

**Author's Note:**

> In this preface, nothing more than rated PG happens. The boys begin at ages 16-17, and then go back in time to ages 12-13. Story contains homosexual romances, but no graphic underage sex scenes. It is, however, implied that some fooling around is going on. If the idea of a little romance between 12 year olds bothers you, don't read this. Mainly Creek and Bunny themed, with some violent fight scenes, attempted murders, death, resurrections, and even Superheroes. Storylines and elements from the video games are not often used, other than superhero personas. There are mentions of child molestation, graphic medical elements, murder, and graphic injury descriptions. There are also fluffy cute scenes for relief, too.

Anyone who didn't know the boy wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible limp on his right leg as he walked up to the front entrance of the school. They might not have noticed the distracted expression, or the vacant, even puzzled, look on his face, either. He was actually quite unremarkable in his blue jacket and black cargo pants, his slip-on black shoes making no sound on the polished hardwood floors as he entered the old building. People _were_ noticing him, however. This was his first day back at high school in quite some time, and what was drawing their attention was not just who he was, but the bright yellow poofball atop his new blue chullo hat.

In fact, all of his clothing was new. It had been a while since he'd had new clothes, and they itched somewhat, he thought.

_I l-like this hat, D-Dad! P-please?_  
_Don't you think you're a bit old for that, son? It's a kiddie-hat._  
_Holding the hat in his left hand, staring at it...what was it about the hat? The yellow poofball?_  
_I w-want it, Dad!_  
_And his father had simply sighed and put it on his son's head, pulling it just so, covering his ears._  
_Covering his scar._

Staring around at the gray-green walls and rows of lockers, he pulled a paper from his pocket with some numbers on it. He walked up to the nearest locker, noted the number, and began counting down the row until he came to his. It was near the library doors, he remembered, and the classes for office management and stuff were across the hall. He fumbled with the combination lock for a moment, the fingers of his right hand refusing to do all that his brain was telling them. If he could just get the locker open!

“Bad lock, Dude?” A boy in an athletic letter jacket asked, and the boy in the yellow poofball hat jumped. He stared at the new boy for a second. He seemed friendly enough, even familiar. “You OK?” The boy offered his hand in greeting, but the boy in the yellow poofball hat took a step back. The boy's face fell, looking as if he might cry. He sniffled.

“Wh-what's going on?” Another boy with a lazy eye asked, his Canadian crutches making tapping sounds as he made his was over to them, “B-busted la-la-looooock? Mine's g-got a b-bad hin-hin...hiiiiinge!” He drawled the last word.

“N-no, it's f-fine,” the boy in the yellow poofball hat replied, his voice flat and a bit nasal, “M-my...my fingers d-don't...”

“He doesn't remember,” an African-American boy in a purple sweater whispered to his friends, having just come around the corner and approached them with some haste, “Remember?”

“Oh! I didn't remember that he might not remember!” The boy in the letter jacket nodded, grinning a silly grin. “I'm sorry!”

The boy in the yellow poofball hat nodded. He smiled a slight smile, looking at the three of them. For just an instant, a sparkle lit up his dull, blue eyes.

Then it was gone.

“W-well, it's n-nice to not b-be the only one w-with a stutter!” The boy with crutches smiled.

“You didn't stutter the word 'stutter',” the boy in purple laughed, which, for some reason, was amusing.

For an awkward moment, the boy in the yellow poofball hat just stared at them. His grin began to look silly, and his eyes seemed distant. Then he smiled, his perfect teeth still showing the marks of recently removed braces. “I...I know y-you!” He nodded, “You're J-Jimmy!” He looked at the other two, who didn't pressure him.

They'd been warned not to pressure him.

“And y-you're a t-terrific audience!” Jimmy smiled.

“You know, I heard a rumor that Mrs Jones was going to be out for a while?” The boy in the letter jacket asked uncomfortably.

“Yeah! I heard that t-too!” Jimmy agreed, “W-wonder who the s-sub is?”

“Everything OK, here, bro's?” A tall man with Oakley sunglasses asked, as he paused, looking up and down the hallway for signs of mischief. He offered his hand to the boy in the yellow poofball hat. “Good to see you back, Bro! You feelin' OK?”

“Oh, God!” The other three of them groaned to themselves.

“Y-yes, sir, th-thank you,” the boy nodded, reluctantly shaking his hand. The others just stared. Some time ago, and the boy might just as soon have flipped off the teacher and denied doing it.

“If you have any problems, you just come to my office, Bro, OK?” He looked at the other three boys. “I've made sure you're all in the same classes, so you all keep an eye on him, OK? I'll be subbing for a while, first period, just so you know!”

“So the rumor's true, sir? You didn't really change jobs?” The familiar-looking athletic boy asked.

“And here I am!” The man smiled. The other boys just nodded as the man walked off, shouting at someone who was jamming up the water fountain so that the next person who used it would get sprayed. “AND THAT'S A WEEK'S DETENTION FOR YOU, NATE!”

“Now _why'd_ he transfer from the elementary?” The boy in purple asked.

The boy in the yellow poofball hat stared at them again, looking lost in thought. “Clyde? Y-your name is...Clyde?” He asked of the boy who'd first greeted him.

The boy in the letter jacket nodded hopefully.

“I have been, and ever shall be, your friend,” Clyde replied.

“No, that's **Star Trek** ,” Token told him.

"I r-remember you!" Craig smiled at his old friend.

“It's still p-p-pr-pro-...” Jimmy took a breath, “Pro-zay-...prozayyyyy-ICK!”

“C-can you g-get this d-damn thing?” The boy in the yellow poofball hat blushed, defeated by the combination lock. “I...I'm sorry I d-didn't r-re-remember you, right off. S-sorry, Clyde,” His lower lip quivered, and his cheeks grew a bit pink. For just a minute, he looked like he were going to cry. “I...I'm not m-making fun of y-you, J-Jimmy,” he apologized, “I c-can't even talk anym-m-more.”

“I know! Of c-course, _I'd_ be the f-first one you re-reeeeee-remember!” Jimmy smiled brightly.

“You're about to infringe Clyde's trademark!” A pretty girl with blonde hair cut in, as she came up and took Clyde's arm, “ _He's_ the emotional one!” She kissed her boyfriend's cheek. The others all paused.

The boy in the yellow poofball hat just stared at them. The others watched him carefully. “Ewww!” He exclaimed.

“You remember Bebe?” Clyde asked, stifling a laugh.

“Craig?” Bebe asked softly, looking a bit put off.

“Y-you kissed him!”

“Well, yes, silly, why wouldn't I, Craig?” Bebe replied.

“M-my name is C-C-Craig T-Tucker,” the boy in the yellow poofball hat nodded slowly, giving the others some pause, as he just continued to stare at Bebe. The bell rang. “Y-yellow,” Craig mumbled, as Clyde got the locker open and organized Craig's books. He handed him the Algebra II book. “Y-your hair is y-yellow,” Craig stammered. He looked back at Clyde. “And y-you're Clyde. And Token!” He nodded again, looking down at his new shoes, ashamed.

“Oh, boy,” Jimmy sighed, as Craig looked up, his eyes searching the hallway.

Searching with eyes that looked haunted.

Lost.

As if searching for someone else.

He looked back at Clyde and Bebe. “Y-you're a c-couple?” Craig nodded, “I...r-remember now. I...I n-never had a...,” he paused, “G-girlfriend?”

“No, you n-never did,” Jimmy began, “S-since y-you're g-...OWWW!” He yelped, as Token kicked his shin. “Th-that's great, T-Token! K-kick the c-cripple!”

“I...I d-don't know where eh-anything is,” Craig admitted, “I g-go to school here, b-but I f-forgot where stuff is?”

“Hey, Craig!” Another boy with dirty-blond hair said, as he clapped Craig on the back, “Good to see ya, man!” He stopped at a locker a few doors down and tossed his orange jacket in. “Have fun with algebra, suckers!” He laughed, heading off the other way.

Craig shivered, his eyes wide, as if the boy had frightened him.

“C'mon, we've gotta get to class!” Token cut in, taking his arm, “I'll take you. It'll all come back!”

“He looks really good, considering,” Bebe whispered to Clyde, as Token led Craig ahead, his limp more pronounced now. “But he's, I don't know? Strange? And what's with that hat? He hasn't worn one of those since sixth grade?”

“His dad said he picked it out all by himself, when the doctors said he was ready to come back to school,” Clyde shrugged, as another boy with swept-back brown hair joined them.

“Hey, was that Craig?”

“Hey, Jason! Yeah, he's back,” Clyde said, his voice not enthusiastic.

“I thought I was hallucinating, when I saw the hat!” Jason smiled, another friend joining him, “So how is he?”

“He didn't know us, at first,” Clyde sniffled, his eyes filling.

“Dude, was that Craig?” Another boy with cropped, curly red hair asked, as he and a boy with black hair joined them.

“Where's your other half?” Bebe wondered.

“Where's the 'fro?” Clyde grinned, “You look like a ginger Brillo pad!”

“Can you really see Cartman and Kenny in algebra?” Kyle snickered, running a hand over his head and grinning at the playful insult.

“Hey, S-Stan,” Jimmy nodded. “D-Douglas,” he added to the boy with Jason.

“And what's with that hat he's wearing?” Stan wondered, he and Kyle both seeming perplexed as they followed along, a few steps behind, “Thought we gave those up in seventh grade?”

“Yeah? Nobody wears hats anymore?” Kyle agreed.

By the time they'd made it to class, all of them taking desks at the back of the room, Jimmy had explained it to them – albeit rather slowly.

“Awww, shit, dude,” Kyle sighed, “I had no idea that Craig...”

“All right, students!” PC Principal announced, as the bell rang again, “I know that algebra sucks, but we'll get through it until I can find a regular teacher for you.” He looked around the room, taking roll.

Craig Tucker just sat, staring at the blank whiteboard.

_Blank._

_It could take a while for his memory to come back, I'm afraid...IF it comes back at all. Between the skull fracture and the stroke caused by the clot..._

“So he doesn't remember any of it?” Stan whispered to Clyde.

“No, none of it, so don't mention it,” Clyde replied, “HERE!” He added, as his name was called, “Dude, what are we? Eight years old?”

“Truancy is a serious problem, Mr Donovan!” PC Principal reminded him, “And hopefully, everyone knows how to multiply by now?”

Clyde blushed in reply. “Sir, why did you change jobs?”

Jason and Douglas gasped, as if expecting something terrible to happen, shocked at Clyde's audacity.

“Because elementary school was driving me crazy!” The teacher smiled, continuing the roll, “And I thought _you_ were bad! You have NO idea!”

“He sure seems happier?” Kyle sounded relieved, “I know Ike was about to lose his mind with him, what with all the 'Canadian' stuff!”

As PC Principal reached the end of the alphabet, he called, “Craig Tucker?”

No response.

Token nudged Craig in the ribs, as Craig seemed to have locked onto the whiteboard and was oblivious.

“OWWW!” Craig glared at him, “W-what did y-you do that for?”

“Tucker, here,” PC Principal smiled wanly. “Welcome back, Mr Tucker! Well, now that we're all here...”

“Where's Mr Garrison?” Craig then asked, out of the blue, looking around as if expecting roll call to go on. He just kept looking around, confused.

The room went quiet.

“He's the president now, remember?” Token reminded Craig, “In his second term?”

“God help us all,” PC Principal cringed, “Or whatever deity – or lack thereof – you prefer!”

“Oh, r-right,” Craig agreed. “HERE!”

The other students looked away politely, as Jimmy answered.

“All right,” PC Principal began, “Let's have some review...”

“Sir?” Craig held up his hand.

“Yes?”

“Th-that's not ever-ree-one, is it?” Craig asked, looking all around the room, his gaze lingering uncomfortably on his old friends.

“Well, let's see – Reed, Stevens, Stoltski, Tucker, Valmer, no, that's all of you?” PC Principal checked.

Clyde, Token, Bebe, and Jimmy exchanged worried looks.

“Not everyone takes algebra, or they might be in the next class, Craig,” Kyle offered, “Like Wendy?”

“Oh! Right! S-sorry, sir,” Craig apologized.

The others breathed a collective sigh of relief, worried at what the teacher's reaction was going to be. He seemed to not mind, however, and simply went into a review lesson.

_It's not unusual for patients to retain selective things, such as reading and writing, how to dress, how to eat, etc., but have no memory of their peers, or certain locations. Or incidents._

While taking notes was difficult, as his hand didn't work all that well, Craig seemed to remember how algebra worked. He remembered where English class was when the bell rang, but as the gang exited the room, PC Principal stopped Clyde and Token, nearly causing Kyle and Stan to run into them. They watched Bebe and Jimmy leading Craig along.

“That roll call scared me,” PC Principal admitted, “He knew he wasn't usually the last, or next to it, on this list.”

“He hasn't mentioned him, sir,” Clyde added.

“I can't believe Craig could forget _him_ ,” Stan sighed, “Cool as he was.”

“Yeah, but did you see how he reacted when Kenny walked by?” Kyle put in, “It was like, seeing Kenny scared him?”

“It's the hair,” Clyde surmised, “He froze up when Bebe got there, too.”

“And the hat?”

“He's either forgotten him, or he's blocking him out,” PC Principal explained, “And if it's the latter, it's gonna be bad when he remembers. One of you guys come and get me, if he has problems, OK?”

“Sir, why send him back to school with only one grading period left?” Token wondered.

“The doctors say it's time for him to resume his normal routine,” PC Principal explained, staring down the hallway. “He seems to be getting around OK? Poor kid can't stay in bed, or be a house hermit forever!”

“Sir, you didn't change jobs just to get away from Ike's gang, did you?” Kyle had to ask.

“No, Bro, I didn't,” the man paused, as if searching for the right words. “I know what Craig's going through.”

“Sir?” Clyde wondered.

“Just don't leave him alone, all right?” PC Principal told them.

“But, sir? What if he asks?” Clyde wondered, “What if he asks about _him_?”

The rest of the students filed in for the second algebra class, and PC Principal wrote the gang a pass.

“Lie to him,” he finally decided.

 


	2. A Different Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1, and a bit thereafter, from a different student's perspective. What happened to Craig Tucker? Read on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will undoubtedly go BACK in time. See if you can spot the Batman reference.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 2**

Summary: Craig's first day back at school, from another perspective.

*

Smoke from the burning menthol cigarette curled into the crisp air, carried away in varying and chaotic forms on the breeze. There was a promise of spring on that breeze, but as the boy in the orange jacket knew, there was no guarantee of that. Spring could come early in the Colorado mountains, but more often than not, it came late. Really late, some seasons. Sometimes, it snowed in early June. School could be out for the 'summer', and there would still be piles of snow in the parking lots.

He inhaled deeply on the cigarette, his third since getting up that morning. He smirked. Everyone thought he was 'carton-a-day' chain smoker or something, but in reality, he seldom went through a new pack in two or three days. The damn things cost nearly ten bucks a pack, and money was a valuable resource: hard fought for, and to be conserved. Conserved, that is, unless his little sister needed something. He took another drag, sensing the approach of another, long before he saw him.

“Teachers be damned,” he scoffed, peeking around the corner of the imposing brick building to see a boy in a yellow poofball hat coming up the front walk.

Limping up the walk.

The limp was nearly imperceptible, but as many times as he'd been injured in his sixteen years of life, he knew how to spot an injury. He knew how to see pain.

The boy in the yellow poofball hat was in pain, too.

 _I knew you'd come, Guardian Angel,_ he could almost hear the voice of his sister, as if she were standing right there. It was strange, yes, but so common for him that he tended to ignore it. They had a name for people who heard voices, once you were too old for imaginary friends.

“Step on a crack,” Kenny McCormick mumbled to himself, taking the last drag of his cigarette and crushing it out under his boot, “Break your mother's back.” Not that he cared much about that. He was amazed that his worthless father hadn't done that already. “Step on a crack, stumble,” he rephrased it, just as the boy in the yellow poofball hat did just that.

Kenny knew he'd stumble.

He'd watched him stumble over that same crack three times already.

“Grab the door handle, pull, wait for it...” Kenny paused, as Craig Tucker did just that. “And fail,” he sighed, watching as Craig tried his left arm instead, and got the door opened. “Toddle down the hallway, lost,” Kenny went on, talking to himself. “It's all familiar, somehow, but also totally alien.”

He'd watched it thrice already.

Today he would not.

Today, he would stay in his smoking nook by the school's chimney, hidden from view by the dumpsters.

He just couldn't stand to watch it again, Craig staring around at the gray-green walls and rows of lockers, pulling a paper from his pocket with some numbers on it. He'd walk up to the nearest locker, and begin counting down the row until he came to his. It was near the library doors, he remembered, and the classes for office management and stuff were across the hall. Craig would fumble with the combination lock for a moment, as if the fingers of his right hand refused to do all that his brain was telling them.

He'd seen the results of a left-brain stroke before: impaired speech, paralysis in varying degrees on the right side, diminished vision in one eye. He was surprised that Craig hadn't been fitted for glasses. He sighed, deciding to light another precious cigarette. It didn't matter anyway; the pack would never run out, if he so chose.

The whole worthless day would never run out, if he so chose.

All he had to do was 'reset' it.

All he had to do was die.

_No, Dudes, he's dead! He wasn't wearing a seat belt._

He remembered how his grandfather had never recovered from the last stroke. So many times, the old man would “stroke out”, spend some time recovering, and then be back to his crotchety old self in seemingly no time, as if nothing at all had happened.

But Craig was so young. Perhaps he'd recover faster.

“It's been nearly all school year,” Kenny whispered, hardly aware that he was speaking aloud, “He's not going to get any better. Won't matter if he catches up and graduates. Not like he'll be able to work, or take care of himself. No more of that Craig-i-tude (as Kenny called it), flipping you off with that sarcastic, shit-eating grin,” Kenny fell silent, going over it again and again in his mind. 'Maybe there'll be those old, fun insults. It wouldn't be the same though. Not when Jimmy Valmer's more articulate than Craig now. No more working on his baby – no more Red Racer for you, buddy boy!'

He thought of that annoying song by Prince again. His mother liked it. She'd even worn out a damn vinyl record of it. Yes, that was entertainment in the McCormick home – trailing edge technology, yes, but most of it still worked. It seemed that his dad could always get the old junk working again. Why he didn't open his own shop, Kenny didn't know. Old people loved that stuff: record players, cassette decks, VCR's, and the like. Hell, he'd even seen Stuart fix an old Nikon FG camera that shot film, for God's sake! No one shot film anymore.

“Little red Corvette,” Kenny hummed to himself.

No, not again. He couldn't watch it play out all over again.

“Bad lock, Dude?” Clyde would ask, and the boy in the yellow poofball hat would jump. Craig would stare at Clyde for a second, but he wouldn't recognize him. Kenny wondered if Craig would recognize _him_. “You OK?” Clyde would offer a hand, but Craig would step back, confused. Clyde would sniffle with hurt. The last time, he'd cried.

Kenny could relate to that.

Clyde wasn't the only one who cried sometimes.

“Wh-what's going on?” Jimmy would ask, clinking his way over on his crutches, and drawl out the last word of his sentence, telling them his lock was bad, too. But it wasn't. Jimmy was only trying to make Craig feel better. No, the lock was fine. Kenny had checked it the second time he'd watched the exchange, making himself late for General Math.

“Good old Jimmy,” Kenny sighed, taking another pull of his cigarette. About then, Craig would be saying that his fingers didn't work. Clyde might be crying. Jimmy would be trying to make it all right, while Token was reminding them that Craig probably didn't remember. Clyde would snicker, maybe, and say he didn't remember the part about not remembering.

There would be that heartbreaking flash of recognition in Craig's blue eyes, but...

...then it would be gone.

Jimmy wasn't the only one with a stutter now, and the friends would find that funny.

“I...I know y-you!” Craig would say, “You're J-Jimmy!”

Or maybe he'd say, “Y-you're Token!”

They'd talk about the rumor that Mrs Jones in math would be out for a while. Something about surgery, paid leave, and then PC Principal would walk up, scaring them half to death. They'd wonder who the sub was going to be, and find out the hard way. The Principal would shake Craig's hand, and tell him it was good to have him back. Craig would either say that he was OK, like the first two times, or he might go to pieces. There was the slim chance that he might just flip him off.

Kenny didn't want to know.

And that was why he stayed outside, smoking.

“AND THAT'S A WEEK'S DETENTION FOR YOU, NATE!” The Principal would shout at the boy with red hair, sabotaging the water fountain. Or maybe not. He might not see him, and get soaked when he bent down to get a drink. Or it might be Douglas, or someone else, getting soaked.

Kenny realized that his own mouth was dry.

“Clyde? Y-your name is...Clyde?” Craig might say, and Clyde would nod hopefully. He'd quote a line from **Star Trek II** , still looking to be on the verge of tears. But that was Clyde for you, Kenny knew, and he found it charming.

“I have been, and ever shall be, your friend.”

Jimmy would say it was prosaic.

“Nerds,” Kenny managed a wan smile at the thought.

Then Craig would stutter out an apology, and Clyde would open his locker for him. Bebe would walk up to Clyde, and their kiss would sort of gross Craig out. Craig would stare at her blond hair, just like he'd stared at Kenny's three times before, if Kenny so chose to go in and walk by them again.

But he chose not too.

He couldn't stand the haunted look in his sort-of-friend's eyes. He'd seen it thrice – Craig staring at his hair. Staring at his blond hair.

He'd given up hiding in his big, fluffy orange parka long ago.

God, he thinks I'm _him_!

“M-my name is C-C-Craig T-Tucker,” the boy in the yellow poofball hat would slowly nod.

It was just too much.

Kenny hadn't noticed it the first time, simply greeting them as he passed by on his way to general math. He hadn't turned to look back, as he had the second time. The image was still with him: Craig searching with eyes that looked haunted.

Lost.

As if searching for someone else.

Someone who wasn't there.

Someone who wasn't coming back.

Certainly someone that Kenny wasn't.

“Y-you're a c-couple?” Craig would ask Clyde and Bebe.

“ _You_ used to be a couple,” Kenny sighed, his voice so soft that even he didn't hear it. But he could still hear the gentle 'whap' and the “OWWW!” as Token kicked Jimmy, just hard enough to get his attention.

“Have fun with algebra, suckers!”

No, he'd done that thrice. Today, he just couldn't face percentages again. He'd cut general math. No one would care. No one would notice that he was gone. They might even think he'd died.

Again.

“Not that it'd do any good,” Kenny sighed, crushing out his cigarette and heading around the back of the building. He thought he might head over to the Vocational Arts wing. Shop class. Who were they kidding? VA was just the PC way of saying 'shop class'. You know, that place where the dumbasses and assorted retreads go, because they'll be lucky to find a job just fixing tires or doing shabby construction work. Not that he cared. He could just have easily been in algebra with the others. Rotating conic sections in space was nothing to him, but no one cared that a kid like him was actually intelligent.

To them, he was just another loser from the wrong side of the tracks.

“That McCormick boy, you know, the middle one? He's just as bad as his brother, and probably end up in the same bad way! Up the river. He drinks, he smokes, he steals, and I've heard he'll have sex with just about...”

Maybe, Kenny thought, Sheila Broflovski shouldn't run her mouth before checking to see if Kenny were upstairs with Kyle. Then again, had she known, she'd have probably just chased him off.

Kenny wandered on.

First period, and there would be no one in the shop rooms. Those classes didn't start until second period. Mr Adler would be teaching the basic math class first period, trying to make sure that his flunkies could at least read a ruler and know how much a half-inch was.

Kenny thought about hats.

“His dad said he picked it out all by himself, when the doctors said he was ready to come back to school,” one of them would say. Had said. Twice. The third time, Craig had haltingly declared this, and so proudly, too.

The boy in the yellow poofball hat.

The boy in the red poofball hat.

The boy in the green ushanka hat.

The boy in the turquoise stocking hat.

Damn, but he just couldn't stomach Eric Cartman this morning.

The boy in the yellow-brimmed hat.

The boy with green earmuffs.

The boy in the orange parka.

“Whatever happened to him?” Kenny said to himself, “Maybe he died, maybe he stayed dead this time, and left me in his place.”

The boy in the purple sweater.

The boy in the red and blue jacket, if not an athletics letter jacket.

The boy who never wore a hat, but couldn't button his shirt.

As he entered through the back door, Kenny was pulled out of his reverie by a familiar voice.

“Well, hey Kenny!” Leopold 'Butters' Stotch greeted him, adjusting his glasses.

“How's the new lens and cornea holding up, Butters?” Kenny asked politely, knowing full-well that the repairs to Butters' wounded left eye had been carried out with parts from Kenny's own eye. Of course, no one remembered it. It was just some kid who'd died, and his organs had been donated. Then again, maybe it was meant to be, as Kenny had been the one who'd nearly knocked Butters' eye out to begin with.

It was unnerving, wondering how many of his 'old' organs were floating around out there in other kids who'd received them as transplants? For just an instant, Kenny saw the image of Butters with a ninja star stuck in his left eye, howling his brains out, bleeding...

_...route 285, MVA, possible fatalities..._

“Fatality,” Kenny muttered, unaware that he'd said it, disgusted that he'd heard it.

“What fatality?” Butters wondered.

“Your fly's down,” Kenny smirked, and Butters blushed, dropping his hall pass.

“Oh! Thanks!” Butters gasped, fixing his trousers. “Eye's fine, thanks, Ken,” Butters went on, as he usually did, “It's OK, I know you didn't mean it,” Butters assured him for probably the millionth time. That was Butters – so kind, so forgiving...no matter how many times Cartman shit on him. “But boy, it sure is nice to have normal vision again, Ken!”

Butters was the only one who called him 'Ken'.

_Oh my God, they killed Kenny!_

“Butters, you ever feel like you've... I dunno? Died, and woke up somewhere strange?”

Butters' face paled. He reached out and put a hand on Kenny's arm. “I heard he was back. Craig, I mean?” Butters paused. “That what you're upset about, Ken? Say, don't you have General Math about now?”

“Yeah,” Kenny sighed, “I cut it.”

“You're not, uhhh, gonna do nothing stupid, are you, Ken?” Butters asked, his voice full of genuine concern. God, that was so very Butters.

Kenny had to smile.

“No, don't worry,” Kenny assured him, _Not that it'd matter,_ he thought to himself.

“Well, where you goin' then?” Butters persisted, despite the fact that Kenny had turned to go. Butters looked down the corridor and knew. “Oh, Kenny, what for?” Butters groaned, “I dunno why they keep that thing in the auto shop, anyways? It's totaled out!”

“The class is having a heyday, learning a lot, trying to fix it,” Kenny explained, “I guess if they can rebuild it, then it'll be a nice surprise?”

“No, I don't think it would,” Butters disagreed, turning to follow Kenny, “If he can't remember, they should let it be.”

“Won't you get in trouble for being late, Leo?”

“Nah, I'll just tell 'em I had _that_ problem again,” Butters said, lowering his voice, “My rectum, you know?” He blushed deeply. “Doctors said they might be able to operate, once I stop growing!”

“Yeah, fucking Cartman had a good time with that one,” Kenny snorted, as they made their way down the corridor, “That time he dressed up as a robot.”

“I'm glad my mom wouldn't let me take auto mechanics,” Butters mused, his voice sad, “I know some of the guys dropped it, when...”

“When they brought his car in?” Kenny finished for him.

“Yeah.”

The door squeaked as Kenny pushed it open. He flicked a light switch. The room smelled of gasoline and oil, engine exhaust and rubber – to name a few of the odors. But only Kenny could smell the last, as the boys looked around the room.

Death.

The room reeked of death.

Kenny had experience it enough times to know that, yes, sometimes there was that fabled “smell of Death”.

Wasn't there a song about it? “Can't you smell that smell? The smell of Death surrounds you!”

“I can't look at this!” Butters whimpered, “I...I'll see ya, OK?”

“Sure, Leo,” Kenny patted the boy's shoulder, realizing that no one but he called Butters by the shortened version of his real name.

Kenny didn't see him go, but he heard the door click shut. Instead, his eyes focused on the four round tail lights of the medium-red 1977 Corvette Stingray. From the rear end, it looked fine. Elegant lines, wide tires, dual exhaust, and the promise of raw power. The back tires needed replacing, having seen their fair share of burnouts. And a silly bumper sticker with a family of guinea pigs in all colors of the rainbow.

The personalized license plate read: REDRACER.

Inhaling the familiar smell, Kenny walked around the car. His hand brushed over the body lines, until the jagged edge of the off-center driver's door nicked him. He stuck his finger in his mouth, tasting blood.

It wasn't the first time.

It certainly wouldn't be the last.

“350 cubic inches, bored thirty-over, thirteen-to-one compression pistons, ported and polished heads, three quarter cam, roller bearing shaft and lifters, and a Borg-Warner turbo fed by a custom injection plant,” a nasal and flat voice echoed in his head, “Four on the floor, and a Dana replacement posi rear end for more top end.”

It wasn't the first time that Kenny had heard that voice in his head.

_There's a name for people, what hears voices in their heads..._

It wasn't the first time that he'd walked around the ruined car.

“Little red Corvette,” he sang to no one but himself, and perhaps a stray rat, “Baby, you're much too fast.”

And indeed, she had been.

Too fast, one too many times.

The doghouse, as they called the front fenders, hood, inner fenders, and grille were missing. The “shop boys” had already straightened the frame, twisted as it had been. Kenny didn't think the car would ever hold alignment again, or be stable at speed. Of course, the fiberglass body had been shattered, the windshield destroyed. The passenger side had taken the worst damage, the door torn away, and the roof post sheared off. But they'd straightened the roof again, best they could, having converted it to a lift-off Targa version.

The engine was out and mounted on a stand, in the middle of a rebuild. The transmission was already rebuilt and reinstalled, and the broken driveshaft replaced. It might have been easier, Kenny thought, to just weld the front end of another 'Vette onto her. Still, he couldn't possibly see how it could work.

All along the west side of the auto shop, bits and pieces, mangled parts, and broken dreams lay all over the floor, up against the wall.

Red Racer was, simply, too badly damaged.

Just like her master.

“We can't just scrap her!” Clyde had cried, “When he gets better, I mean, it'll be all he has left!”

“He'll have us,” Token had added.

“But he rebuilt this car from the ground up! It was his dream!”

“He'll have other dreams.”

“No, he won't...”

Kenny closed his eyes, his bleeding hand coming to rest on the passenger seat.

He smelled that smell.

_...Route 285, head-on collision, motor carrier versus sports car...possible fatality..._

He'd heard it all on his father's police scanner. With as many run-ins with the law as Stuart McCormick had, the one thing that was always working was his police scanner.

_...Dispatch, Unit 2, one confirmed passenger fatality. Requesting air support for driver...alert Denver..._

He'd been at home, trying to do his homework, tuning out the sounds of his parents arguing, as usual. When the call had come across the scanner, he hadn't paid much attention to it until he'd heard those two words: Red Corvette.

Kenny's hand tightened on the headrest of the passenger seat.

He remembered that night. There was only one red Corvette in South Park. At the sound of those two words, his heart had skipped a beat.

“Well, that's what these idiots get for buying their spoiled-ass kids a sports car!” His father had scoffed, “Serves 'em right!”

“They didn't buy it, they found it in Weatherhead's barn!” Karen McCormick had retorted, and the fight was on again. Knowing that it would have done no good to argue, Kenny had just sat and listened. They'd called for air support for the driver. Corvettes only seated two.

And no one drove Red Racer but for her Master.

Hell, with her quirks and that suicide clutch, no one else _could_ drive her!

Kenny eased himself down into the passenger seat. The broken glass and bloodstains had long since been cleaned up, even before the front suspension had been rebuilt.

But Kenny could still smell it.

He could still smell Death.

He ran his hand over the dashboard, his own blood staining the split material.

_...registration, vanity plate – RED RACER...repeat, one confirmed dead at scene. Ejected from vehicle._

“Scene, seen, words are funny,” Kenny whispered, “Words are weapons.”

“FAGGOTS!”

How many times had he heard that word thrown around, ever since they'd been nine or ten years old? But how many times had he had seen Red Racer parked out by Stark's Pond, the windows steamed up? What was the old saying? If the car was rockin', then don't come knockin'?

How many times had the superhero in the purple and green outfit waylaid some older kids who might have been out to go “fag-bashing”?

But his wasn't a game of superheroes. This was real life.

And Super-Craig wasn't invulnerable.

“More like the Fag-mobile, than the Batmobile!” Cartman had often joked.

“The Batmobile is black, Fatass!” Kyle always reminded him, “You're jealous, aren't you?” He'd soon realized, “You're jealous of his car!”

“Or his boyfriend,” Stan had added jokingly, as none of them had ever had a problem with homosexuality.

“And everyone thinks that _I'm_ the pervert?” Kenny sighed, clenching his hand into a fist. He must have hit a missed fragment of broken glass, as he felt the pain.

As he felt the fresh blood.

It dripped from his fist to mix with the dried blood in the carpet that they'd yet to replace.

And the bitch of it was, Kenny McCormick knew, that there wasn't a god-damned thing he could do about it.

“Not for lack of trying, though,” Kenny scoffed, never opening his eyes as he laid the seat back, remembering.

As soon as he'd heard the words “red Corvette” on the scanner, followed by “fatality”, the image had flashed before his eyes. Some might have called it a vision, but for Kenny, it was just “another day at the office.” Shit like this happened to him all the time.

He'd even asked the Goth Kids about it, years ago, in his Mysterion persona.

“You're an Eldritch Abomination,” Pete had told him.

“No, he's more like a Lovecraftian Horror,” Michael had disagreed, “It'd be pretty hard to stuff an Abomination into human form.”

“That, or he's just fucking insane,” Henrietta had dismissed it, “You think you can't die?”

“Bitch, you don't know the half of it,” Mysterion had replied.

And once again, that image was playing out in his mind.

But how many times had he tried?

How many times had he tried to prevent this?

How many times had he failed?

“Every _fucking_ time!” Kenny growled, raising his bleeding fist, and looking up and out the soiled shop windows at the gray sky. “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU CURSE ME WITH THIS, IF I CAN'T USE IT TO DO ANY GOOD WITH?” He waited for the answer that he knew wasn't coming.

It wasn't the first time he'd asked.

It wasn't the first time he'd been ignored.

“Why the hell do I even bother?” Kenny then sighed in resignation. It must have been getting close to time for the bell to ring, he knew. Any minute now, and Craig and Those Guys (what was left of them) would be on their way to English class. He'd be on his way to shop class.

This class.

“So I'm early,” he muttered, absently twisting the knob of the modern retro-build stereo that had somehow survived the dash breaking.

He didn't even flinch when the stereo came on, despite the fact that there was no battery to power it: “Take, take me home...'cause I don't remember...take, take me home...'cause I been a prisoner all my life...”

“Phil-fucking-Collins!” Kenny groaned, “I ask for a _sign_ , and You give me _Phil Collins_?” He thought about another cigarette, but decided against it. What was the point, after all?

Smoking was not allowed in Red Racer.

_Like he'd ever give YOU a ride, Kinny!  
He did, so shut the fuck up!_

The song finished, and the stereo went dark. Kenny looked out the window again at the gray clouds. They were beginning to swirl, and he wondered if a spring thunderstorm might be building up there somewhere. He thought that if there were lightning, he might go out in the yard and wait for a bolt to strike him. It surely would.

After all, wasn't it nature trying to get rid of something as unnatural as himself?

“A Lovecraftian Horror. I like that,” Kenny decided. “Shit! What did I do to deserve this?”

He waited.

“What did _they_ do to deserve this?”

Outside, the first small rumble of thunder.

Kenny waited.

The bell was surely due to ring at any time.

Lightning flashed.

“Lightning,” he sighed, finally realizing, as he sat there in ruins of Craig's beloved Red Racer, that it wasn't Cartman who'd been jealous.

It had been he himself.

“No one takes _me_ seriously,” Kenny breathed, feeling himself beginning to tremble as The Other approached.

And even though it was unexpected, Kenny wasn't at all surprised by it.

“You try and hold me back, but you're weak,” that gravely, deep voice told him.

“Go away!” Kenny almost cried, his not-quite-changed normal voice breaking.

“It's not like you were close to them,” that deep voice repeated, as Kenny pounded his fists on his temples, trying to beat the voice back to whence it had come. “You were jealous, yes? No one ever showed you the love and affection that he showed to T-...”

“He didn't deserve this!” Kenny retorted hotly.

“ _He_ never took you seriously! _None_ of them did!” Came the snarling reply.

“ _He_ asked me for advice!” Kenny whimpered, “Because _he_ thought I was cool!”

“ _He_ thought you knew it all, because _he_ thought you were a perve!” The voice replied, cold, even angry, “And here you sit!”

“Because I failed!” Kenny cried, “ _He_ deserved more, and I failed _him_!”

“They _replaced_ you with **him** ,” the voice countered, even deeper, colder, “So why do you even care?” It pressed him relentlessly, “Why did you relive this day four fucking times now?”

“Once you're parked, just sit a while. Wait for the right song on the radio. Then just lean over and kiss him,” Kenny remembered saying.

And the voice of The Other laughed at him. “You can't hold me back,” It reminded him, “Who do you think it was that beat up that girl in Greeley that was after Karen? You think it was YOU that took out Trent Boyette when he got out again in ninth grade? And who was it that set up Steven Stotch for using you and his own son in a kiddie-porn racket? You? HA!”

“Yeah? Well YOU can't fix this EITHER!” Kenny yelled at It, “WE TRIED! WE FUCKING TRIED SO MANY TIMES!”

“Maybe he's _supposed_ to be dead?” The Other said slyly, almost crooning.

But Kenny didn't reply. He simply waited, his bleeding hand inside the front of his pants. He must have cut it deeper than he'd thought. He watched the storm rolling in. Again, the thunder, followed by lightning.

“ _He_ thought _he_ could control lightning, when we'd play,” Kenny sighed, a smile finally crossing his face.

The bell rang.

Lightning flashed.

Kenny McCormick pulled a .38 Special from the front of his pants and put it to his temple.

He hoped it wouldn't hurt too badly. He honestly couldn't recall if it did before.

“I'm so sorry, Tweek!” He wailed.

As the thunder crashed a split-second later, and the shop class windows exploded, showering the wreck of Red Racer in more broken glass, Kenny pulled the trigger as a bolt of blinding lightning annihilated the auto shop classroom.

There was no one to shout, as the Timeline reset once again, “Oh my God, they killed Kenny!” - “You bastards!”

 


	3. Imagining Hats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Kenny's third trip through Craig's first day back at school. Accidents happen (especially to Kenny), but what drove him to commit suicide in the auto shop?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: Funeral scenes, vivid descriptions. Bad memories. Guilt. Mental illness, even? The funeral scene is based on one from my real life.

 

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 3**

**Third Time's the Charm**

*

“Here we go again,” Kenny McCormick sighed, crushing out his cigarette as he watched the boy in the yellow poofball hat coming up the sidewalk for the third time. It wasn't that he'd wanted to relive that day again. No. In Kenny's case, however, as the old saying went, “shit happens”. It just seemed to happen to Kenny more than it did to anyone else. This last time, he'd been killed by a flying iron skillet, the victim of yet another of his parents' fights. The time before that, the school bus had flattened him when the parking brake had failed. “Better me than Karen,” he told himself, making a quick dash from his smoking nook to intercept Craig.

He grabbed his elbow, startling the boy, just as the toe of Craig's right shoe caught the crack and he stumbled.

The first time, Craig had caught himself. The second time, he'd fallen and blooded his nose with a faceplant to the concrete. He'd spent the first period not in algebra, but in the nurse's office. His father, Thomas, had come to pick him up right after English class, second period.

This time, Craig gasped, his backpack sliding down his arm as Kenny righted him again. Craig blinked, a look of shock on his face. For just a moment, his dull blue eyes sparkled.

Then it was gone.

The look on his face, Kenny thought, reminded him of the proverbial frightened rabbit. Craig looked as if he might bolt, but then his expression softened.

“Thanks!” Craig smiled a crooked smile, “How'd y-you know I...I'd trip?”

“That crack's been there forever,” Kenny answered, still hanging onto Craig's arm. He blushed. “Oh, sorry! Lemme help you...” he adjusted Craig's backpack.

“My n-name is C-Craig T-Tucker,” Craig introduced himself, offering his hand. Kenny took it, noting the weak grip. He quickly shook it, and let go. He stared at Craig, shocked again, although he knew that Craig wouldn't recognize him.

“I know, Craig. I'm Kenny McCormick. I've known you since kindergarten.”

“Oh!” Craig exclaimed, “I...I'm sorry ... K-Kenny.” He paused. Slowly, he reached up with his right hand and touched Kenny's blond hair. Kenny noticed how Craig's hand trembled, just he quickly withdrew it. “I'm s-s-sorry!” Craig blurted, “I sh-sh-shu-shuuud...” he couldn't manage the word, and Kenny could see the tension building in him. He grabbed Craig's hand.

“It's OK, Craig,” Kenny assured him, wondering if he shouldn't have just let Craig faceplant himself again. “It's OK,” Kenny didn't let go of his hand, “You got your balance back now?”

Craig nodded. He swallowed hard a few times, nodding slowly.

“I just got a different haircut,” Kenny offered, lying, “Does it look bad?”

“N-no,” Craig looked at him again, with a misty expression that might be better fitting on Clyde's face. “I'm s-sorry I didn't n-know you. I g-guess I forgot a lot-lotta p-p-pee-p...peeps!” Craig decided on the shortened slang.

“Maybe you should avoid the letter 'p'?” Kenny suggested, smiling.

“Yeah!” Craig grinned, the right side of his face not dimpling up as much as the left. Kenny noticed the slight droop at the corner of Craig's right eye. “Y-your hair?” Craig then added, looking fascinated, “Is y-yellow?”

“Uhm, yeah?” Kenny agreed, recalling that the first two times, he'd just said “Have fun in algebra, suckers!” and walked on by. He hadn't hung around to see Craig's reaction. _Dumbass, of course he'd react to the blond hair! The hell was I thinking?_ “You OK with steps?” He asked, as they made to go in and Craig gripped the handrail with his left hand. _He didn't need to use that the first two times? It's almost like he's worse this time? But it's the first time – the only time – for him, isn't it?_ Craig made it up the steps unassisted, but he looked tired. _Crap, is he getting worse, every time I resurrect? Why would me replaying the day affect Craig?_

“I...I like y-yellow,” Craig panted, as he sat down on the bench just inside the doors. “K-Kenny, are we f-f-friends?” Craig then asked.

“Yeah, we were – I mean, _are_!” Kenny answered quickly, although that hadn't actually been true. The closest interaction they'd had was on a fourth grade field trip to a wild west reenactment town, where they'd been buddies for the day.

Craig then pulled a paper from his pocket with some numbers on it. He got up and walked up to the nearest locker, noted the number, and began counting down the row.

“Yours is right over there,” Kenny pointed to the library doors. He watched as Craig, his limp more pronounced, went to the locker. He fumbled with the combination lock for a moment, the fingers of his right hand refusing to do all that his brain was telling them.

_Any minute now..._ Kenny thought.

“Bad lock, Dude?” Clyde asked, and the boy in the yellow poofball hat jumped. Craig stared at Clyde for a second. He seemed friendly enough, even familiar. “You OK?” Clyde offered his hand in greeting, but Craig took a step back. Clyde sniffled, and his lower lip trembled.

“He's gonna lose it,” Kenny mumbled to himself, knowing that Jimmy was coming up behind him as he gave Clyde's back a reassuring pat. “Don't pressure him, man,” he reminded Clyde.

“Right,” Clyde agreed.

“Wh-what's going on?” Jimmy asked, his Canadian crutches making tapping sounds as he made his was over to them, “B-busted la-la-looooock? Mine's g-got a b-bad hin-hin...hiiiiinge!” He drawled the last word.

“N-no, it's f-fine,” Craig replied, his voice flat and a bit nasal, “M-my...my fingers d-don't...”

“He doesn't remember,” Kenny and Token both said in stereo, then grinned at one another, “Remember?” Token finished, “Oh, hey Kenny. Don't you have General Math?” Token pointed down the hall.

“Yeah, just ran into Craig, not literally, I mean, on the way in. Wanted to say hi,” Kenny answered, realizing why he'd chosen to not interact before. He was decidedly uncomfortable in their company.

“Oh! I didn't remember that he might not remember!” Clyde nodded, grinning a silly grin. “I'm sorry, Craig!”

The boy in the yellow poofball hat nodded. He smiled a slight smile, looking at the three of them. For just an instant, a sparkle lit up his dull, blue eyes.

Then it was gone again.

Just like the last two times, Kenny imagined.

“W-well, it's n-nice to not b-be the only one w-with a stutter!” Jimmy smiled.

“You didn't stutter the word 'stutter',” Token laughed, which, for some reason, was amusing.

For an awkward moment, Craig just stared at them. His grin began to look silly, and his blue eyes seemed distant. Then he smiled, his perfect teeth still showing the marks of recently removed braces. “I...I know y-you!” He nodded, “You're J-Jimmy!” He looked at the other two, who didn't pressure him.

They'd been warned not to pressure him.

“You know, I heard a rumor that Mrs Jones was going to be out for a while?” Clyde asked, as if trying to change the subject.

“Yeah! I heard that t-too!” Jimmy agreed, “W-wonder who the s-sub is?”

“PC Principal,” Kenny cut in, realizing that he was now in unexplored territory. From his perspective, he hadn't even arrived yet. He was still out back, smoking. Or spying from the landing of the second floor staircase.

“WHO!?” The boys, all but Craig, squeaked.

“Me, of course! Everything OK, here, bro's?” A tall man with Oakley sunglasses asked, as he paused, looking up and down the hallway for signs of mischief. He offered his hand to the boy in the yellow poofball hat. “Good to see you back, Bro! You feelin' OK?”

“Oh, God!” The others groaned to themselves.

“Y-yes, sir, th-thank you,” Craig nodded, reluctantly shaking his hand. The others just stared. Some time ago, and Craig might just as soon have flipped off the teacher and denied doing it.

“If you have any problems, you just come to my office, Bro, OK?” He looked at the other boys. “I've made sure you're all in the same classes, so you all keep an eye on him, OK? I'll be subbing for a while, first period, just so you know!” He paused. “All but you, McCormick,” he peeked over his sunglasses at Kenny, “I know you're capable of more than basic math, Kenny. I could move your lazy ass to algebra, if I wanted to!”

“Sir, isn't that bit un-PC?” Kenny wondered.

“What's that they say about extreme measures?” PC Principal actually smiled, “I saw what you did a couple minutes ago, Bro! Nicely done. May I?”

Kenny nodded. The principal clapped him on the shoulder. “Consider my offer, Kenny, all right, Bro?” Kenny nodded again.

“So the rumor's true, sir? You didn't _really_ change jobs?” Clyde asked.

“And here I am!” The man smiled. The other boys just nodded as the principal walked off, shouting at someone who was jamming up the water fountain so that the next person who used it would get sprayed. “AND THAT'S A WEEK'S DETENTION FOR YOU, DOUGLAS!”

_So Douglas did it this time, and not Nate the Carrot?_ Kenny wondered.

“Now _why'd_ he transfer from the elementary?” Clyde asked.

The boy in the yellow poofball hat stared at him again, looking lost in thought. “Clyde? Y-your name is...Clyde?”

Clyde nodded hopefully.

“I have been, and ever shall be, your friend,” Clyde replied.

“No, that's **Star Trek** ,” Token told him.

“It's still p-p-pr-pro-...” Jimmy took a breath, “Pro-zay-...prozayyyyy-ICK!”

“C-can you g-get this d-damn thing?” Craig blushed, defeated by the combination lock. “I...I'm sorry I d-didn't r-re-remember you, right off. S-sorry, Clyde, I didn't n-know K-Kenny, either,” His lower lip quivered, and his cheeks grew a bit pink. For just a minute, he looked like he were going to cry. “I...I'm not m-making fun of y-you, J-Jimmy,” he apologized.

“I know! Of c-course, _I'd_ be the f-first one you re-reeeeee-remember!” Jimmy smiled brightly.

“You're about to infringe Clyde's trademark!” A pretty girl with blonde hair cut in, as she came up and took Clyde's arm, “ _He's_ the emotional one!” She kissed her boyfriend's cheek. The others all paused.

Craig just stared at them. The others watched him carefully. “Ewww!” He exclaimed.

“You remember Bebe?” Clyde asked, stifling a laugh.

“Craig?” Bebe asked softly, looking a bit put off.

“Y-you kissed him!”

“Well, yes, silly, why wouldn't I, Craig?” Bebe replied.

_She's a blonde,_ Kenny fretted.

“M-my name is C-C-Craig T-Tucker,” the boy in the yellow poofball hat nodded slowly, giving the others some pause, as he just continued to stare at Bebe. The bell rang. “Y-yellow,” Craig mumbled, as Clyde got the locker open and organized Craig's books. He handed him the Algebra II book. “Y-your hair is y-yellow,” Craig stammered, glancing at Kenny.

“It's OK, we know you like yellow,” Kenny reassured him.

Then Craig reached for Kenny's hand again. “I r-rememb-b-ber a field t-trip, in th-third grade,” Craig mumbled, “You w-were my b-buddy?”

“That's right,” Kenny smiled in agreement, not correcting the year. In fact, he wasn't sure if it had been third or fourth grade himself.

“Oh, boy,” Jimmy sighed, as Craig looked around, appearing lost again.

As if searching for someone else.

And Kenny knew who he was looking for. _God, did it go off like this the other two times? If he remembered the field trip, does he remember anyone else?_

Craig looked back at Clyde and Bebe. “Y-you're a c-couple?” Craig nodded, “I...r-remember now. I...I n-never had a...,” he paused, “G-girlfriend?”

“No, you n-never did,” Jimmy began, “S-since y-you're g...OWWW!” He yelped, as Token kicked his shin. “Th-that's great, T-Token! K-kick the c-cripple!”

“I...I d-don't know where eh-anything is,” Craig admitted, “I g-go to school here, b-but I f-forgot w-where stuff is?”

“Hey, Craig,” Kenny began, as the temperature of the hallway noticeably dropped. _I should just be arriving, saying hi, and then telling the suckers to have fun with algebra,_ Kenny realized. But he didn't leave. He looked over at Craig, who had noticed it too.

Craig shivered, his eyes wide, as if Kenny had frightened him. “Yeah?”

_Someone's walking over your grave_ , Kenny thought, “Uh, oh nothing,” Kenny added hastily. _What the fuck is that? That's never happened before? And how did the others notice it?_

“Did someone leave a door open?” Bebe wondered.

“C'mon, we've gotta get to class!” Token offered nervously, taking Craig's arm, “I'll take you. It'll all come back!”

“You know, I might take PC Principal up on that offer,” Kenny mused, noting that the others all seemed to have noticed the chill, too.

“He looks really good, considering,” Bebe whispered to Clyde, as Token led Craig ahead, his limp more pronounced now. “But he's, I don't know? Strange? And what's with that hat? He hasn't worn one of those since sixth grade?” She looked at Kenny, “About the time someone stole your orange parka, wasn't it? All the boys gave up the hat thing.”

“Nah, we all just started caring about our hair, and how we looked, you know,” Kenny grinned at her.

“Well, don't take this the wrong way, Kenny, but you certainly became more presentable around that time,” Bebe informed him.

Kenny shrugged. He wasn't offended; he knew it was true. He'd always been the dirty, poor kid. Well, not as dirty as Dog Poo Petruski, who reminded him of Pig Pen from 'Charlie Brown'. “Nah, now I'm just the poor kid,” Kenny smiled at her reassuringly. He didn't bother to mention getting help from Kyle and Stan, or doing odd jobs for his own trips to the laundromat and the HBA section at the dollar store.

“Craig's dad said he picked the hat out all by himself, when the doctors said he was ready to come back to school,” Clyde interrupted, as another boy with swept-back brown hair joined them.

“Hey, was that Craig?”

“Hey, Jason! Yeah, he's back,” Clyde said, his voice not enthusiastic.

“I thought I was hallucinating, when I saw the hat!” Jason smiled, “So how is he?”

“He didn't know us, at first,” Clyde sniffled, his eyes filling.

“Dude, was that Craig?” Kyle asked, as he and Stan walked up to them.

“Where's the last one?” Bebe sniffed, looking disgusted.

“Where's the 'fro?” Clyde grinned, “You look like a ginger Brillo pad, Kyle!”

“Can you really see Cartman and Kenny in algebra?” Kyle snickered, running a hand over his head and grinning at the playful insult. Then he noticed Kenny. “Oh, sorry! So, uh, you're switching classes?”

“Yeah, I think I should,” Kenny decided.

_This is where things start to change,_ Kenny realized, _The first time, Craig made it through the day OK, I think, before I got flattened by the bus. The second time, I guess his dad had to come and take him home. His limp's worse, though. And what the fuck am I doing, switching over to Algebra? Hell, at least Cartman won't be there!_

“What's with that hat Craig's wearing?” Stan wondered, he and Kyle both seeming perplexed as they followed along, a few steps behind, flanking Kenny, “Thought we gave those up in seventh grade?”

“Yeah? Nobody wears hats anymore?” Kyle agreed.

“Oh, enough of the damn hats,” Kenny snorted.

By the time they'd made it to class, all of them taking desks at the back of the room, Jimmy had explained it to them – albeit rather slowly. Kenny took a seat to Craig's right.

“Awww, shit, dude,” Kyle sighed, “I had no idea that Craig...”

“All right, students!” PC Principal announced, as the bell rang again, “I know that algebra sucks, but we'll get through it until I can find a regular teacher for you.” He looked around the room, taking roll.

Craig Tucker just sat, staring at the blank whiteboard. Kenny noticed it.

_Blank._

_It could take a while for his memory to come back, I'm afraid...IF it comes back at all. Between the skull fracture and the stroke caused by the clot..._

“So he doesn't remember any of it?” Stan whispered to Clyde.

“No, none of it, so don't mention it,” Clyde replied, “HERE!” He added, as his name was called, “Dude, what are we? Eight years old?”

“Truancy is a serious problem, Mr Donovan!” PC Principal reminded him, “And hopefully, everyone knows how to multiply by now?” He chortled at his own joke. “And glad you could join us, Mr McCormick! I'll pencil you in, all right, Bro?”

Clyde blushed in reply to his answer as Kenny nodded. “Sir, why did you change jobs?” Clyde asked.

“Because elementary school was driving me crazy!” The teacher smiled, continuing the roll, “And I thought _you_ were bad! You have NO idea!”

“He sure seems happier?” Kyle sounded relieved, “I know Ike was about to lose his mind with him, what with all the 'Canadian' stuff!”

As PC Principal reached the end of the alphabet, he called, “Craig Tucker?”

No response.

Kenny nudged Craig in the ribs, as Craig seemed to have locked onto the whiteboard and was oblivious.

“OWWW!” Craig glared at him, “W-what did y-you do that for?”

“Tucker, he's here,” PC Principal smiled wanly. “Welcome back, Mr Tucker! Well, now that we're all here...”

“Where's Mr Garrison?” Craig then asked, out of the blue, looking around as if expecting roll call to go on. He just kept looking around, confused.

The room went quiet.

“He's the president now, remember?” Token reminded Craig, “In his second term?”

“God help us all,” PC Principal cringed, “Or whatever deity – or lack thereof – you prefer!”

“Oh, r-right,” Craig agreed. “HERE!”

The other students looked away politely, as Jimmy answered.

“All right,” PC Principal began, “Think you can keep up, Kenny?”

“I had a lot of spare time in study hall, sir,” Kenny answered, “So, 'b' is the rotation variable, right? Should be pretty hairy, when you factor that in for a rotating ellipse?”

“All right! Dude, I'm impressed!” The Principal nodded, “I think I'll use that in my paper about independent study!”

“Sir?” Craig then held up his hand.

“Yes?”

“Th-that's not eh-ever-eee-one, is it?” Craig asked, looking all around the room, his gaze lingering uncomfortably on his old friends.

“Well, let's see – Reed, Stevens, Stoltski, Tucker, Valmer, no, that's all of you?” PC Principal checked.

Clyde, Token, Bebe, and Jimmy exchanged worried looks, as did Kenny, Stan, and Kyle.

“Not everyone takes algebra, or they might be in the next class, Craig,” Kyle offered, “Like Wendy?”

“Maybe I threw off your count, Craig?” Kenny offered, noting the lost, haunted look in Craig's eyes again. _Your hair is yellow...staring down the corridor, as if looking for someone who wasn't there..._

_Craig Tucker? HERE!_

_Tweek Tweak?_

_God, I hope that's not what he's on the verge of remembering!_ Kenny fretted, knowing that even if a teacher had made the mistake of not removing the name that followed Craig's from their rolls, and even called it out of habit, there would be no answer. Kenny didn't want to imagine what Craig might do, if that were to happen. Still, no one had mentioned Tweek so far.

And it seemed that no one was going to.

“Oh! Right! S-sorry, sir,” Craig apologized, his eyes drifting back to Kenny.

The others breathed a collective sigh of relief, worried at what the teacher's reaction was going to be. He seemed to not mind, however, and simply went into a review lesson. He seemed to be challenging Kenny's knowledge at every turn, but for each question, Kenny had an answer. Kyle and Stan just stared at him in disbelief.

“Dude, I'm buying homework answers off you now,” Stan smirked.

“Who knew?!” Kyle seemed astonished.

“Wow, he's r-really good at this,” Craig agreed, as he rotated his ellipse in the opposite direction.

“Fourth Quadrant, watch the minus signs,” Kenny advised.

_It's not unusual for patients to retain selective things, such as reading and writing, how to dress, how to eat, etc., but have no memory of their peers, or certain locations. Or incidents._

While taking notes was difficult, as his hand didn't work all that well, Craig seemed to remember how algebra worked. He remembered where English class was when the bell rang, but as the gang exited the room, PC Principal stopped Clyde and Token, nearly causing Kyle and Stan to run into them. They watched Bebe and Jimmy leading Craig along.

“Yeah, I've had Stripe since I was little!” Craig was saying.

Kenny remained at his desk. His next class was auto shop. His stomach was telling him, even though he'd had nothing for breakfast, that it wasn't up to facing what was sitting in (actually, all over) the Auto Mechanics garage.

He didn't think he could take looking at the wreckage of Craig's beloved Red Racer for a third time.

_I have GOT to make it home without getting killed today,_ Kenny sighed inwardly. _Hell, if I have to help work on that destroyed 'Vette again, I just might kill myself! They could have at least removed the passenger seat, instead of having me shampoo the blood out of it._

“That roll call scared me,” PC Principal admitted, “He knew he wasn't usually the last on this list.”

“He hasn't mentioned him, sir,” Clyde added.

“I can't believe Craig could forget _him_ ,” Stan sighed.

“Yeah, but did you see how he reacted when Bebe walked up?” Kyle put in, “It was like, seeing her scared him?”

“It's the hair,” Kenny spoke up, cutting off a startled Clyde, “He did the same thing when I helped him up the steps this morning. That's why he remembered the field trip in fourth grade. I think...I think he thought that I was...” Kenny paused.

“Him?” Clyde asked.

“His _name_ was Tweek,” Kenny said, without emotion, “Stop saying 'him', like his name is taboo or something.”

“But it is, sort of!” Clyde protested, “They told us not to bring him up!”

“Mister McCormick,” PC Principal reminded him, “Craig doesn't _remember_ him. Tweek. You think we didn't consult with his parents? You think we didn't consult with the doctors? Craig has either forgotten him, or he's blocking him out,” PC Principal explained, “And if it's the latter, it's gonna be bad when he remembers. PTSD is nothing to fuck around with, OK, Bro? One of you guys come and get me, if he has problems, OK?”

“Yes, sir,” Clyde answered, “But remember, we're not supposed to pressure him, and we're not supposed to mention Tweek,” he glared at Kenny.

“Sir, why send Craig back to school with only one grading period left? If it's that bad?” Token wondered.

“The doctors say it's time for him to resume his normal routine,” PC Principal explained, staring down the hallway. “He seems to be getting around OK? Poor kid can't stay in bed, or be a house hermit forever!”

“Sir, you didn't change jobs just to get away from Ike's gang, did you?” Kyle had to ask.

“No, Bro, I didn't,” the man paused, as if searching for the right words. “I know what Craig's going through.”

“Sir?” Clyde wondered.

“Just don't leave him alone, all right?” PC Principal told them.

“But, sir? What if he asks?” Clyde wondered.

The rest of the students filed in for the second algebra class, and PC Principal wrote the gang a pass.

“Lie to him,” he finally decided.

“Well, this is all bullshit!” Kenny scoffed, as he grabbed his pass. Not that he intended to go to Auto Mechanics.

“I want you in my office, McCormick!” PC Principal snapped at him.

“And what good'll that do, sir?” Kenny retorted, “All this...idle banter? Talking about how we're supposed to baby Craig along?”

PC Principal flinched, as several of the members of the next incoming algebra class just looked at them as they passed by. PC Principal closed the door. Everyone in the classroom had turned around to watch, although they couldn't hear the exchange in the hallway.

“I have a free period right after lunch, Kenny,” the Principal's tone changed again, “I want to see you then. I have a class to teach right now.”

Kenny turned to go.

“I know that Craig isn't the only one hurting,” the Principal added.

“You have no idea, sir,” Kenny replied, without turning to face him.

“Oh, and Kenny? Mr Adler is expecting you. Cut that class, and you'll wish you hadn't!”

Kenny turned on his heel and headed in the proper direction.

*

“Seriously, McCormick?” Mr Adler was yelling, knocking on the door of the shop's restroom. His answer was a long and rather glorious fart MP3, played from Kenny's phone, and recorded from an episode of 'Terrance & Phillip'.

“I'm sorry, sir!” Kenny shouted through the locked door, “Ohhh, God,” Kenny moaned, for good measure. Thankfully, Adler bought it.

“Petruski! Brimm! You're screwin' around too much!” The teacher shouted, “Drop that small-block Chevy engine on your foot, and you'll think 'screw around'!”

Kenny just sat in the restroom for a while. The small transom window overhead was just large enough for the thin boy to fit through, so he crawled out of it and exited to the student parking lot where he could smoke in peace.

Where he didn't have to look at the remains of Craig's Corvette.

He'd been looking at what was left of that damned car all year long, and he just couldn't take any more of it.

The accident had happened shortly into the first grading period, not long after school had started. He'd heard about it on his father's police scanner, the first time, but by then, it had been too late. Normally, when he died, Kenny would simply wake up in his bed as if it were the morning of that same day repeating. He sometimes thought of it as _**Groundhog Day Syndrome,**_ named after the movie where each day just started over for the protagonists. It hadn't bothered him at all, really, or even gotten his attention until the words “red Corvette” had hit him.

There was only one red Corvette in South Park.

He'd seen death before. Poor Kenny had died and come back to life seemingly countless times, but as he'd learned from his encounter with Cthulhu, it took an Immortal to kill another Immortal. He supposed it was like the _**Highlander**_ TV series. Then again, he'd been decapitated before; that hadn't worked, either. He'd simply awakened in his bed that morning, ready to avoid whatever it had been that had killed him (hopefully) and move on.

He'd seen classmates die, too. Pip Pirrup had been brutally squashed by the reassembled Mecha-Streisand. Terrance Mephesto had also died in her attack, and Red Shirt Boy (Kenny forgot his name) had been eaten by the Black Scary Monster when their school bus had been stranded. He'd seen adults die, too, but these deaths hadn't really affected him. People died, after all. That was just how it was.

Kenny sighed as he lit a cigarette, leaning back into the fenderwell of Clyde's white four wheel drive Ford Ranger. “Shit,” he mumbled. Most of the kids had their own cars by then, but not Kenny.

“Well, maybe if you weren't a poor piece of crap, you'd have a car, Kinny!” Cartman had teased him. Teased him, that was, until Cartman's mother had informed him that he was far too immature to have a license, and refused to allow him to have one. Not that Cartman would have worked to pay for his own car, anyway. What a joke that was! And, oh, how Kenny had reveled in it!

“The bitch should be buying me a new Camaro!” Cartman had insisted, “What the fuck is wrong with her? God-damn Craig has a classic 'Vette!”

“Because he worked for it, Lazy-Ass!” Kyle had constantly reminded him. Kyle, who was content to drive his mom's old Jetta, mainly to haul Ike around for her. (And often, Kenny).

“That was when the ripping _really_ started,” Kenny grinned, remembering that Cartman had nearly had heart failure the first time Craig pulled up to school in the 'Vette. Kenny had even arranged for Craig to drop him off one day, right in front of Cartman. It had been a tight fit with Tweek on his lap, but that hadn't been a bad thing, after all.

The look on Cartman's face had been priceless, especially after saying, “Like Craig would ever give _you_ a ride, Kinny!”

“Served him right, the useless fat fuck,” Kenny snickered, recalling his own father's reaction. Stuart had thought that Thomas Tucker had just given Craig the car.

“And don't think I'm giving _you_ a car, Kenny!” Stuart had snapped at him.

“Would that be the broken-down station wagon that hasn't run in ten years?” Kenny had made the mistake of asking, which had, of course, set off yet another fight between his parents.

No, Craig had worked his ass off to pay for the old, dilapidated '77 Corvette that Kenny had found in the Weatherheads' barn when he'd been in foster care. It had been a project car for Thomas Tucker and his son for years, but by the time Craig had gotten his license, he'd paid off the car and all the work that had gone into it. Craig had _done_ most of the work himself.

“This is, after all, _your_ fault,” a voice in the back of his mind told him, “You should have never looked under that tarp. You should never have told Craig about that car. You should have just let it sit and rot, like it had been doing for fifteen years!”

“Shut up!” Kenny told the voice, The Other, as he called it. That voice that spoke to him when he was really angry or upset.

That voice that came out of his mouth when he was Mysterion.

The voice that had made him realize just how hard the death of Tweek Tweak had hit everyone.

Himself included.

The bitch of it was, poor Craig hadn't even been able to go the funeral. He'd been too badly injured, and still in a Denver hospital in a coma. Still, Kenny believed, Craig was lucky in that respect. He hadn't had to see Helen Tweak break down so badly that she couldn't even greet people at the casket.

And it had been a closed casket.

All that Helen had been able to do was sit in a chair and sob near the display: a closed casket surrounded by mounds and mounds of flowers that were, themselves, slowly dying as well. Dying, sacrificed, to honour the memory of a poor boy who had died so violently that the makeup artists couldn't make him presentable. A child that couldn't even have, in death, one last look from his grieving friends. Yet Helen had remained, nodding and clutching the offered, familiar hands that were usually taking a cup of coffee from hers.

Richard Tweek had played the role of the stereotypical strong male well. He'd stood there for hours during visitation, and before the funeral. He'd stood, shaking hands and making small talk, an artificial smile plastered to his face. He'd prattled on about how proud he'd been of his “little homosexual son”, and how he so hoped that Craig would be all right. And what was that? No, no! Of course he didn't blame Craig! How could he? He loved Craig. It had all been the truck driver's fault, and so long as Craig lived, he'd always have a son.

But Kenny knew better.

There were to have been eight pallbearers: Clyde, Token, Jason, Douglas, Stan, Kyle, and himself. Clyde, however, always the emotional one, had collapsed during the service. He'd had to be replaced, that honour having fallen to Butters. Oddly enough (to Kenny) it had been Helen who'd taken the sobbing boy in her arms to comfort him.

A mother without a son – a boy without a mother.

When the services had ended, the guests being ushered out to their cars to head to the cemetery, the pallbearers had remained behind to carry the casket out to the hearse.

For Kenny, who'd wouldn't have cared less if the one in the casket had been his father, mother, or even older brother, it had all been a struggle to understand. Tweek was dead, of course. People were upset, naturally. But all of this emotional turmoil? He himself was sad. After all, Tweek wasn't coming back. And did his own parents act like that, when he died? Did Time even allow for his funerals? Kenny didn't think so.

And Clyde?

None of the other boys were acting like that.

The last guests had exited, and the doors closed.

 

That was when Kenny had heard Helen Tweak scream.

That was when Kenny had finally understood.

 

As he leaned further back into the lee of Clyde's truck, Kenny heard it once again: **NO! MY BABY! TWEEEEEK!** The vowel sound in the last word stretched out, wailing...a sound so packed with grief and loss that Kenny's brain was simply unable to process it. He'd simply stood, mouth agape, as Thomas Tucker had caught her when she'd fainted.

Kenny had also never seen a grown man cry. But that day, he'd seen Richard Tweak finally break down as he'd collapsed into the back seat of the escort car.

_Is this how parents are supposed to be?_

Kenny heard the same wailing at the cemetery, even though Helen looked sedate, unaware, as they laid Tweek to rest in that hole in the snowy ground.

Later that night, alone in his bed, unable to sleep, he heard it again.

He heard it the next evening, as he put up chairs and cleaned up the dining room for Mr Lu Kim at City Wok – even though the restaurant was deserted.

He heard it Monday morning at school, as he hid behind the dumpsters, smoking. He heard it as he watched, imagining hats on the students filing in.

There was no one to wear a yellow poofball hat, either. No one with a shorter boy holding his arm, walking close, with his shirt buttoned wrong.

Why didn't he ever wear a coat?

“Because he's always warm,” Craig had once explained, “It's like having an electric blanket that doesn't need plugged in!”

He heard it as he walked from school to work, noting the sign in the window of Tweak Bros. Coffee: **CLOSED INDEFINITELY**.

And now, sitting alone in the students' parking lot of South Park High, unable to again face the remains of Craig's Red Racer, Kenny heard it again.

He got up and punched in 1-2-8-2-1 on the keyless entry pad of the Ranger. Clyde was always forgetting the code, but it was one of the common presets Ford used. Sometimes, Kenny knew, you needed somewhere to sleep when you couldn't go home.

“I tried, I really tried,” Kenny mumbled, closing the door and hiding in the back seat of the club cab. “I can't _do_ this anymore!” He cried.

And again, he heard that awful wail.

Only this time, it was coming from his own mouth.

 


	4. Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Kenny's third trip through Craig's first day back at school continues. After waking up in the back of Clyde's truck, Kenny realizes that it's time for lunch. More undiscovered country, as the first two times, he didn't eat lunch. How will the day change again? I'll apologize right off the bat for the Hootie bit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for teenage boys fighting. Blood, puking, & language. Some rated PG romance. Psychosis, self-harm. (Kenny)

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 4**

**Third Time's the Charm - continued**

*

“Two fucking hours?” Kenny complained, waking up in the back seat of Clyde's truck on the students' parking lot and seeing that it was time for lunch. Actually, it was his empty stomach that was telling him that it was time for lunch, as he'd had no breakfast. Hell, he _never_ had breakfast, unless it was scavenged leftovers, something he'd pocketed to save for later. Usually, though, his stash would go to Karen. So why should trip #3 through today be any different? His stomach growled, despite the fact that the free lunch he qualified for wasn't worth eating. “Dammit,” Kenny growled in reply, exiting the truck and locking the doors, “And I still have to see PC Principal, 'for he hunts me down, and finds out I cut shop class!”

That wasn't exactly true about breakfast, completely, Kenny had to admit. Some mornings, he'd stop by Tweak Bros. Coffee Shoppe and have breakfast with _him_.

With Tweek.

“Aw, Kenny, you don't want those pastries! They're _two_ days old!” Tweek would always say, even though he never charged Kenny.

“Yeah, but you made them, didn't you?” Kenny would always reply, which would make Tweek blush furiously, and prompt Kenny to add, “I know, you're Craig's man.”

And Tweek would blush even deeper. Most times, he'd toss whatever he was holding. Kenny was very adept at catching flying pastry.

Walking with his head down, Kenny passed the Jetta in front of Clyde's Ranger. Across the aisle, he walked past Butters' older Impala and stepped sideways, unconsciously avoiding an empty parking spot. He stumbled over the tip of the concrete tire bumper, and froze.

He'd just walked _around_ an empty parking spot.

As if someone had grabbed him at the cheeks and temples, Kenny's head turned, seemingly of its own volition. A late 90's black Lincoln LSC 2-door was pulling in, but as Kenny jumped out of its way, he realized that the wide tires made no sound on the loose gravel.

And there was no one driving it.

Just as it seemed it would hit him (and Kenny really didn't care if it), the Lincoln vanished.

“AIGH!” Kenny gasped, a ridiculous little squeak, as he realized that he was now standing in the parking spot he'd avoided, his boots in the middle of a wide tire track. “Goodyear Eagles,” Kenny remembered, glancing over to where the ghost-Lincoln had vanished.

“I like to drive _my_ car sometimes, Craig,” he heard Tweek's voice saying, almost apologizing.

“What, I'm not a good enough chauff _eur_?” Craig's voice replied, but not so flat, not so devoid of emotions. In fact, it sounded warm; a tone of voice that Craig only used with one person. One? No, two, if you counted Tricia. Kenny knew that tone of voice; he used it himself.

Kenny clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, fists to his temples.

_They have a name for people who hear voices...and another name for people who see things!_

“Be quiet!” He whimpered, “You're not here!” He opened his filling eyes to see the Lincoln again, parked right where it usually was, although that wasn't often. He took a step back as the car door opened, his eyes fighting the window tinting to see who was in it. He wasn't sure he wanted to know who was in it. God in Heaven, they hadn't sold _his_ car, had they?

Tweek Tweak stepped out.

Kenny jumped back, but the backs of his thighs hit something hard. Turning with a gasp, he felt his heart nearly stop as he stared at the shining, pristine form of a 1977 Corvette Stingray.

Red Racer.

“Low blood sugar,” Kenny told himself, “From not eating. I...I just need to find Scott Malkinson, get one of his emergency glucose tablets!”

“Dude! Watch out! I almost ran over your ass!” Craig snapped at Kenny, “Tweek,” Craig then changed tracks, and a rare smile lit up his face as the heavy door clicked shut, “You didn't have to drive today, Babe.”

“Scott's low sugar tab's ain't gonna fix this!” Kenny gasped.

“Yeah, but he's cute!” Craig said to Kenny, whispering the words behind his hand so that Tweek wouldn't hear.

 _So much for the **Christmas Carol** , or **It's a Wonderful Life** thing, where they can't see me!_ Kenny thought.

“I like to drive _my_ car sometimes, Craig,” Tweek replied, walking around the Lincoln to take both of Craig's hands in his.

Tweek looked over at him. “I'm sorry, Kenny, if I scared you.” God, it was so very Tweek.

“Oh, God, I'm having romantic fucking hallucinations,” Kenny groaned, but Tweek and Craig seemed to be ignoring him now. They just stood there, staring at one another, as if frozen. “Hallucinations with a pause button?” Kenny added, turning to make sure that the Corvette was still there.

It was.

The new red paint was flawless, and as Kenny looked inside, he saw the “C” embroidered on the driver's seat back. The passenger seat bore a “T”, both done in rainbow stitching on black suede.

The same “C & T” he'd scrubbed blood off of some weeks ago in Auto Mechanics.

He said the letters aloud.

“Yeah, Craig – Tucker!” Craig told him, “C.T. My initials.”

“ _Sure_ it is,” Tweek smiled, snapping Kenny out of it. “I got this for you,” Tweek added, handing Craig a long envelope. For the moment, the seemingly solid hallucinations seemed uninterested in Kenny.

Craig looked intrigued, another alien expression on his face. “We are _not_ putting bumper stickers on Red Racer,” he then said, but his voice wasn't harsh. He then pulled out a bumper sticker printed with seven guinea pigs. They ranged in color from red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet – a spectrum-correct rainbow. Tweek was blushing deeply.

“Gay guinea pigs?” Craig exclaimed, and Kenny saw him smile wider than he'd ever seen before. For Craig Tucker, seeing more than that shit-eating grin was a rare occurrence, indeed. And then, it was usually because he was up to something. But this was a wide smile, ever rarer, since Craig had gotten braces on his teeth and become even more self-conscious. He almost never smiled.

“Nrgh,” Tweek grunted, but quietly, and Kenny saw that he wasn't trembling. Tweek was, just as he remembered, always so calm around Craig. “Do you like it?”

“We're gonna put it on right now!” Craig declared, and they did just that. Kenny saw how Craig held Tweek's hands, helping the smaller boy align the sticker. When they were done, they just stayed there, knees bent, holding hands and staring at one another. “I love it!” Craig finally said, leaning closer to Tweek.

Kenny, despite his shock, knew what was coming. “Oh, get a room,” he groaned, as the boys kissed. No stranger himself to making out, Kenny had to admit that he was impressed. This was, after all, not one of those “peck on the cheek, give Auntie a goodbye-kiss!” kisses. This was a passionate, ongoing kiss, complete with small noises and exploration that removed all doubt that tongues were involved.

 _ARGH! Kenny! What if he wants to kiss me? I mean, really KISS ME? What'll I do!?_  
Why ask me, Tweek?  
B-because you know everything!  
I do?  
YES!  
You got a stuffed animal with an open mouth? Not flat, I mean?  
Y-yes?  
Then practice on that.  
NRGH! Are you SERIOUS?!  
Trust me, it'll work.  
You want me to – AIGH! - French kiss my teddy bear?!  
Well, it'd piss Craig off if you kissed me!

Apparently, it had worked with the bear. Tweek seemed quite adept.

“You like to watch, Kenny?” Craig then asked, snapping him out of it. Kenny blinked.

They were still there.

 _Damn, maybe I am a pervert,_ Kenny remembered, as soon as Craig said it. He remembered looking down at the Corvette, parked near Stark's Pond. His purple cape was flapping in the breeze from his high vantage point, his hand on a pack of large firecrackers. In his other hand, a high caliber paintball gun. Just in case some fag-bashers showed up. Kenny let his mind drift.

*

“Thank you, Guardian Angel!” Karen McCormick whispered, as the Angel in purple and green opened the Styrofoam container that contained fresh, hot Chinese food. “Can't you stay and have some?”

“I have work to do, Karen. Others that need me tonight,” Mysterion told her. “Enjoy!”

And with that, he leaped out the window and vanished into the night.

He arrived, crossing town via rooftops, at the Tucker residence. No one ever looked up, and fortunately, he'd not encountered any of the other town vigilantes. Mysterion preferred to work alone, after all. Not that outrunning The Coon was any problem, as Cartman couldn't move his fat ass fast enough to keep up with Kenny.

The house was dark, Mr and Mrs Tucker having since gone to bed. A flicker of blue light from their bedroom window told the Hero that they were watching television, and he could just hear the sound that he hoped would obscure any noise that he might make. He saw that the lights were on in the garage.

Sliding down the roof for a better vantage point, he pulled out a small pair of binoculars, low power. The garage lights were indeed all on, and a teenage boy in a filthy white T-shirt with two red R's on the front was wiping his hands on a shop rag. He was nodding, but his face clearly showed that he was not satisfied. “Fucking EPA,” Craig Tucker was complaining, a pile of spare parts (mainly rubber vacuum hoses) at his feet. He lovingly patted the car's fender. “Someday, Red, I'll have _all_ that power-stifling bullshit stripped off'a you, and I'll rebuild your engine. Then we'll see what you were _really_ meant to do!”

Mysterion watched as Craig closed the hood, checked his trousers for dirt, and then got into the covered driver's seat. He sat on an old blanket, so as not to soil the new black suede covering. He put the clutch in, checked the parking brake and four-speed shifter, then turned the key.

The engine cranked and cranked, but failed to start.

“FUCK!” Craig snarled, popping the hood and getting out. He did not slam the door, though. He mumbled various things, checking this and that. Mysterion smelled gasoline on the breeze. “Got fuel,” Craig muttered. He tinkered for a few more minutes, as Mysterion pulled a yellow and white box from his pack. He threw it when Craig turned his back. The box landed on the floor beside him.

“What the fuck?!” Craig gasped. Then he saw the box. “HEI Super High Output Coil Pack?” Craig breathed, astonished, “SWEET!” He then looked around the room. “But where'd it come from?” He then shrugged, opening the dusty old box that had sat on Stuart McCormick's shelf for about ten years. It had been meant for the hog of an engine in the old Chevy wagon, but like everything else, Stuart had failed to ever install it. The box had a good half-inch of dust on it. Amazingly, Kenny McCormick had observed, the 'rusty old hog', as he called it, had the same engine as the 'Vette: a high output 350 V-8.

Mysterion watched as Craig installed the coil and wires. They were bright yellow, shining in the fluorescent lights, not unlike the tint of Tweek's hair. Mysterion nodded, staring at the back of the car. “This is not going to sound good,” he mumbled, noting the rusted out mufflers that stuck up the back.

Again, Craig got in and turned the key.

The noise was enough to wake the dead.

“YES!” Craig screamed, giving the gas pedal a slap with his foot. Black smoke filled the yard.

Red Racer was, after rotting away for years, forgotten in a barn in Greeley, once again alive.

Setting the parking brake, Craig got out of the car and began making minute adjustments here and there. He tinkered with the carburetor for a bit. Mysterion had no clue what a “Holley Double-Fucker”, as Craig called it, was. He only knew that it was “guaranteed to suck gas faster than you can pour it in!” - as Craig had bragged. Mysterion scanned the shelves, adjusting his binoculars.

“Double pumper,” he noted, once he located the carb's old box on the shelf. He snickered at the joke. “Eat that, Fatass!” he added, remembering Cartman saying: “You'll never get that old piece of shit to run, Craig. It's sat too long. Everything will be rotten. Just tell your mom to buy you a new one.”

“I don't _want_ a new one, Cartman, I want THAT one!” Craig had replied.

And now, it seemed, Craig had it: his very own Red Racer. (Never mind the faded and cracked spots in the factory paint job.)

When he was satisfied with the car's idling, and the black smoke had stopped blowing out the tailpipes, Craig got back in. He revved the engine again, new platinum spark plugs taking all the power that the coil pack could throw at them, burning off the excess gas.

“SHUT THAT SON OF A BITCH OFF!” Thomas Tucker was then shouting, barging in, in only his slippers and bathrobe. Mysterion looked away. Actually, Red Racer was not all that noisy just idling. Thomas Tucker put his arm around his son's shoulders. “I thought we were going to do this tomorrow?”

“I wanted to surprise you, Dad,” Craig replied, looking down at his greasy boots.

Thomas put a finger under his son's smooth chin and raised the boy's face to meet his gaze. “I'm surprised, son. Very surprised!” He looked over the car. He looked at the adjustments, as Craig explained them. Thomas looked at the pile of stripped off parts. Thomas then got in the driver's seat and revved it up. “You adjusted the Holley all by yourself?” Craig nodded. “That's damn impressive, boy!” Thomas smiled, shutting the car off and getting out.

“Can we take her out tomorrow, Dad?” Craig asked anxiously.

“Craig, you're fourteen. I'll have to drive.”

“I'll be fifteen in a few months!” Craig protested, “I'm already tall enough to reach the pedals!”

“And you're a year and some months short of a permit,” Thomas reminded him, “Unless you're rich enough to pay off the cops?” He smiled.

“You can drive her anytime, Dad,” Craig smiled back.

“We'll take her out to Skeeter's place, and you can learn how to shift the gears there, OK?” Thomas offered.

“Dad,” Craig hesitated, “Uncle Skeeter doesn't like me.”

“Fuck him,” Thomas snorted, “You know what I mean! I mean, I didn't mean...” Thomas fumbled.

“I know, Dad,” Craig sighed, his face going pink. He turned away.

Once again, Thomas took his son's face in his hands. Craig grasped his father's wrists.

They seemed so large.

Mysterion braced to strike. The look on the man's face stopped him, though. It confused him.

It wasn't at all the face of a father that Kenny McCormick would recognize.

“So, is Red Racer ready to win the race, save the day, get the girl – I mean – get the boy...or do whatever it is that Red Racer does?” Thomas asked, his expression soft.

From his perch, Mysterion sighed. He shook his head, his question mark waggling. He wondered what that was like, such a tender-looking touch from a father, and such an expression of love directed at him.

“Maybe when he's got some new tires,” Craig smiled back at him, “Goodyear Eagles?”

“After he's mowed about 200 lawns, I think?” Thomas told him. He turned to rummage in an old rusty cabinet. “I was going to save this,” he told Craig, handing him a gift-wrapped box, “But I think now's the time. It'll take two people to install it, though.”

Craig opened the box to reveal a brand new, but retro-built, car stereo. It looked just like the original in the 'Vette's dash, but it played various media.

“You think Tweek's up?” Thomas asked the shocked boy.

“He...he's always up late,” Craig nodded, seeming to be at a loss for words.

“You wanna go show him?” Thomas held up the key.

Craig's blue eyes sparkled. He smiled. “But, it's a two-seater?” Craig then realized.

“I can hold Tweek on my lap, son,” Thomas offered, “He's small enough.” Thomas paused. “You two _are_ using protection, aren't you?”

“DAD!” Craig almost screamed.

“He _is_ cute,” Thomas went on, antagonizing his shocked son, “Is he ticklish?”

“ **DAD**!” Craig's face went as red as the car. Mysterion nearly fell off the roof laughing.

Thomas then got in the passenger's side.

“Dad, I'm fourteen?” Craig reminded him.

Thomas shrugged, and buckled his seat belt. “Now, once you've started her, make sure the shifter feels right, going into reverse. Ease the clutch up, as the gas goes slightly down. She'll pull herself.”

Hardly able to believe it, Craig turned and held up the keychain. For just an instant, he struck the pose that he'd trademarked for Super-Craig.

Mysterion smiled.

Moments later, and the street was filled with blue-gray smoke and the sound of screaming tires as Craig popped the old clutch, unleashing years and years of pent up performance that had, for so long, waited patiently for her new master.

As the Hero in purple in green dropped from his perch, the tire smoke obscuring his departure from the eyes of a startled Laura Tucker, he could hear Red Racer opening up on the straightaway that led to Tweek's house.

The boys stayed up all night installing the new stereo. Around six in the morning, Mr and Mrs Tucker awoke to hear: “...hold my haaaaand, I want you to hooooold my haaaaand...”

“I didn't think he knew who Hootie & the Blowfish were?” Laura Tucker wondered, as they opened the garage door to find the two sleeping boys curled up together in the passenger's seat.

The blond was covered with a blue jacket, and the other wore a blue chullo hat with a yellow poofball on top.

*

“Don't forget your bookbag, Babe,” Craig reminded Tweek, who fetched that, as well as a to-go cup of coffee, from the Lincoln. The sound of the door shutting snapped Kenny back to reality.

Or what he thought was trying to pass for reality.

_What the fuck? I was just on Craig's roof? Or was I? I was remembering Stark's Pond! The night I stopped those guys from..._

“Mine's bigger,” Craig snickered.

“CRAIG!” Tweek squeaked.

“My _engine_ , I meant!” Craig smiled again, linking his arm with Tweek's.

“I...I have day-old chocolate cream puffs, too,” Tweek tried to change the subject.

“Guys?” Kenny asked, but they didn't reply. “Guys?” Kenny repeated, just as the bell rang. Being so close, the outside bell was very loud.

But when Kenny blinked, they were gone.

Suddenly, Kenny found himself flat on his butt in the cold gravel.

Red Racer was gone.

So was the Lincoln.

“Craig? Tweek?” He gasped at the empty lot.

Confused and near to tears again, Kenny dashed over the shop door. The students were piling out to head for the cafeteria. Kenny hid in the bushes until Mr Adler shouted at Kenny again. Kenny leaped for the transom window, wiggled back in, and came out of the restroom spraying Lysol.

“Boy, you look sick!” Adler gasped.

“I...I'm not well, sir,” Kenny replied.

And indeed, he was not.

As he turned to see the ruins of Red Racer sitting in the class garage, just as it had been since near the start of the school year, Kenny's heart sank. The driver's side door had been realigned so that it would open and close normally, but the gouge was still there.

And just as he remembered it, what remained of the totaled car was still scattered along the west wall.

Kenny stuck his head in the trash can and dry-heaved until his sides ached. The room spun, and as he raised his sweat-soaked head, he could have sworn that he saw someone sitting in the 'Vette.

Someone in purple, his face hidden by a cowl.

But there was no one.

The next thing that Kenny knew, as the room spun away, was that someone was gently slapping his cheek. There was something in his mouth.

“C'mon, suck on it,” he heard someone say. He opened his eyes to see the sincere face of Scott Malkinson next to a terrified Butters. Scott was holding his blood sugar meter in one hand, and poking at Kenny's mouth with the other. Kenny sucked, and tasted something sweet and tart. Fruit. Sugar. “Shit, Butters, he's down to 48 mg/dl! No wonder he's passed out! When was the last time he ate?”

“Ewww, that pokin' his finger, drawin' blood! I think I'm gonna spew!” Butters whimpered.

Kenny had to smile. As he sucked at the sugar tablet, he remembered sixth grade. That was the year that Scott had had his frenulums cut, freeing up his tongue, and eliminating his speech impediment. Kenny got one eye open again, and reached up to take Scott's wrist.

“Oh, Kenny!” Butters gasped, “You gonna be OK, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Kenny groaned.

“You better eat lunch, Kenny,” Scott warned him, “It's pizza day. Pretty high-carb lunch. I brought mine, ham and cheese on coconut flour bread. Low carb, you know! Less insulin!” He patted the electronic pump attached to his belt.

Kenny blinked. _Damn, but puberty is bein' GOOD to Scott Malkinson!_ He thought.

“Yes, sir, Captain D.,” Kenny nodded, as the two of them helped him up. They didn't let go of his arms, though.

“I haven't been him in a few years,” Scott sighed.

“Well, if you and the Professor can get me there, I promise, I'll eat,” Kenny mumbled, as he let them help him out into the hallway.

They ran right into PC Principal.

“Adler just told me you spent the whole class in the toilet?” The man asked. Then he noticed Kenny's condition. “Oh, crap, Dudes!” He reached for Kenny, “I have to touch your person, Kenny, I hope that's OK?”

“Y-yeah?” Kenny started to say, but the principal scooped him up in his arms as if Kenny were a baby.

“Clammy, shaky, pale green? You been pukin', Bro?”

“Yes,” Kenny groaned, his breath smelling of tropical fruit.

The Principal turned to the other two, who looked terrified. “You checked his blood glucose, and gave him a tablet?”

Scott was so terrified that he could hardly nod.

“Well done, Malkinson!” PC Principal congratulated him, noting the meter that Butters took from Scott to show him. 48. “You probably just saved his life!” But the man did not put Kenny down. He carried him down to the cafeteria, putting him back on his feet just around the corner to spare his dignity. Just before he felt the man's arms release him, Kenny could have sworn he felt them tighten one last time.

PC Principal was shaking. It was slight, but it was there.

“From now on, I want you in here for the breakfast program, Kenny,” PC Principal told him, “I didn't fight this backwards town to get that program here, for you to ignore it and starve! EVERY morning! Do I make myself **clear**?!”

“Yes, sir!” All three of them replied, as other students started coming by to take notice.

“All right! He's gonna murder 'em!” Eric Cartman exclaimed.

“And that's two weeks detention for you, Mister Cartman!” PC Principal informed him, “Or you can have a trip to the hospital instead! Choice is yours!”

Cartman went away grumbling to himself, as Kyle and Stan laughed at him.

Behind them came Craig & Those Guys, plus a few girls. Bebe had one of Craig's arms, and Clyde had the other. Clyde's eyes were bloodshot, and it was clear that he'd either been crying, or forcing down the urge to do so.

“It's spring, the pollen, you know,” Clyde fibbed, but they all accepted it. Bebe smiled at him.

“What happened?” PC Principal asked, “Mister Tucker, did you get your meds from the office?”

“Yes, sir,” Craig slurred the words, his eyes somewhat glassy and distant.

“It's a side effect, that's why he has study hall and Independent Studies after lunch,” Token reminded them, “He'll need a nap.”

“I d-do not need a n-naP!” Craig spat the “p”, and his head bobbled a bit.

“That's a damn fine Jimmy impersonation!” Kyle joked.

“Oh, now that's a good one, Kyle!” Jimmy laughed, “Can I use that?”

“I don't s-see why I can't t-take shop eh-eh-any-m-moour?” Craig mumbled.

“Anymore?” PC Principal put in, “Mister, you can hardly walk, much less turn a wrench!”

Everyone seemed to stiffen up at the mention of the word 'shop'.

“It's Vocational Arts, Craig, and maybe next year,” PC Principal told him, “Right now, you need to eat before those meds make you sick. And someone needs to force-feed Kenny here!”

“I got that, sir,” Scott managed, holding up a needle in a threatening manner. “Backup system in case the pump fails!”

“Captain D to the rescue!” Kenny chuckled, stumbling. Butters caught him.

“Remember, we have a chat after lunch,” the Principal reminded Kenny, who didn't argue.

“What was all that?” Stan asked, as they all went in.

“Craig gets wonky when he takes those meds,” Clyde explained.

“No, with Kenny?” Stan repeated.

“I...I haven't been eating,” Kenny confessed. _For the last three lifetimes, in fact, thank you very much_!

“Dude, you look like shit!” Kyle agreed.

“He passed out in sh-,” Scott caught himself, “In the sink! We found him just in time!”

“Yeah, and I'm Thcott Malkinthon, and I have diabeteeth!” Cartman sneered, from his place at the end of the lunch line.

“That stopped being funny about the third time you said it, in fourth grade,” Kyle told him.

Cartman laughed.

“Are you ever going to grow up?” Butters asked.

“AY! I'll kick your ass, Butters!” Cartman snapped.

“Bring it on, Fat Boy!” Scott challenged him, puffing out his chest.

“Stop showing off your pecs,” Lisa Burger came up behind him, giving him a playful punch. Lisa was another of the students that puberty was being extremely kind too. She had no need of Photoshop anymore!

“You should try it, growing up, that is,” Stan added, “It might do you some good, Cartman.”

Eric Cartman ignored them until they had all gotten their trays and sat down. Scott and Lisa moved off to a table of their own.

“Ain't love j-just g-gr-grand?” Jimmy sighed dramatically.

“For those two?” Cartman snorted, as he began wolfing his lunch.

“At least Scott has a license,” Kyle commented.

“And a sweet Mustang GT,” Token threw in, which made Cartman's face go red.

“I...I can't d-drive yet,” Craig said, as Clyde reached over to wipe his mouth for him. “Stop b-b-baby-ying me!”

Cartman laughed so hard that he shot soda out his nose. “OH! Oh, God! That is hilarious! Do it again, Clyde!”

“Shut up,” Kyle said in a deep tone.

Kenny ate his lunch, deciding to keep his peace, unless it became absolutely necessary. He was certainly not up to a fight, even it was with a lump like Cartman. Of all of them, even Butters, he knew what it was like to be the butt of Cartman's sick sense of humor.

“What?” Cartman pressed on, “At least Scott doesn't have an overpowered death trap, like that wreck sitting in the...OWWW! Kick me again, Butt-fucker, and see what happens!”

“Cartman,” Kyle inhaled the word, “I – said – shut – the – fuck – up!”

“Or what?” Cartman laughed, “You touch me, you'll be expelled, and I'll sue your Jew-ass for all your fat mom's got!”

“K-Kyle's mom!” Craig laughed, “I l-like her!”

“Meds are kicking in,” Clyde nodded.

“A GT model _is_ a death trap, if you're not careful,” Token said.

“Oh, yes! Careful. Tell us about 'careful', Craig?” Cartman went on, ignoring the dangerous glare that Kyle was giving him.

Craig dropped his fork and stared at Cartman. Very slowly, he raised his right hand. His fingers curled down into a fist, and then the middle one came up.

“R-right here, p-p-pah...BUDDY!”

Craig had successfully gotten his weak hand to flip Cartman off.

It was an achievement that everyone noticed.

Then Craig happily went back to his lunch.

Everyone was staring at Cartman.

“If you set him off, you WILL be expelled,” Stan reminded him in a whisper.

“Yeah, and what is that?” Cartman asked, “Another one of PC Principal's stupid roools?” He drawled, “What's he doing? Having sex with Craig now, or something? His own little crippled catamite?” Cartman laughed.

They all just continued to glare at him.

“It's called 'common decency',” Bebe told him.

“Decency?” Cartman laughed harder, “Oh, that's a good one, Bebe! Tell us, does common decency include not splaying your boyfriend's brains -...”

Cartman didn't get to finish his sentence, though, as Kenny smashed him across the face with his plastic lunch tray. The hit flipped Cartman backwards out of his chair to smack his head on the floor, but Kenny was on him before he could get up.

“F-fu-fuck him up, K-Kenny!” Jimmy egged him on.

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” The students all began chanting.

But Kenny was in no shape, or mood, to fight. More than anything, he just wanted this day over with. He just wanted to go to the gym, take a hot shower, and then see if he could crash with Clyde or Butters or someone for the night.

He punched Cartman in the face twice, then gave up. Cartman wasn't putting a fight; he was just yelling for help.

“Nuh-Knock him out, Tweek!” Craig smiled, miming boxing punches, and looking a bit out of it himself.

The room went quiet.

All eyes shifted to Craig.

Fortunately, he was nearly oblivious.

“C-Clyde, I...I n-need a nnnnn...” Craig began, leaning over as Clyde caught him. With tears in his eyes, Clyde shifted an insensate Craig over to Token and got up.

Then he began savagely kicking Cartman, cursing and crying, until Stan and Kyle pulled him away and pinned him to the wall. It took the both of them to hold him, with some help from Scott.

“I WILL FUCKING **KILL** YOU, IF HE REMEMBERS THIS!” Clyde screamed.

“Then I'll say hello to Tweek for you, when I get to Hell!” Cartman sniffed, dragging himself back up to head to the restroom. “You fucked up bad, this time, Kinny!” He sneered, “You and Crybaby both!”

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?” PC Principal then shouted, charging through the door with several other teachers.

At about the words “in here,” Kyle released Clyde and patted his shoulder. He calmly walked over to the Principal. “Sir, Cartman attacked Craig!” Kyle lied through his teeth, his face a sudden study in terror.

“You lying piece of shit JEW!” Cartman yelled.

“And that's it, you're expelled, Mister!” PC Principal pointed at him, his hand shaking, as several other students cheered and clapped, voicing support for Kyle.

 _The carrying, the hug, the shaking?_ Kenny had to wonder. _And expelling him? Something isn't right here!_

“Kenny, my office, now,” PC Principal said calmly. “Broflovski, you come along, too. Clyde, Token? Can you guys get Craig to the nurse's office?”

“Yes, sir!” They answered. “Next time, we give him his meds AFTER he eats!” Token added.

“And you,” the Principal glared at Cartman, shaking his head, “You too!”

Cartman was fuming, but he kept his mouth shut, following along behind them. The Principal heard all sides of the story, causing the boys to miss History.

 _This is new,_ Kenny thought, listening to Kyle's story _, It didn't happen like this the other two times. We just ate lunch, and went on about the day. Craig woke up for History, and then he finished the day, the day his dad didn't come for him early. He just went home with his mom? There was no fight. And Cartman never mentioned...Tweek!_

Then it hit him: _I did this! I started the fight!_

 _No, Cartman did,_ The Other's voice disagreed _, Just like he always does. He's getting JUST what he deserves, Kenny! Admit it, you've wanted this for a long, long time! To be rid of the fat lump?_

_Shut up!_

_No, **you** shut up! Listen to me, Kenny!_

_You're insane!_

_NO, you're the one who's insane!_

“Mrs. Cartman?” The voice of PC Principal snapped Kenny out of it, “I need you to come and pick up Eric. What? Well, yes, he's hurt. I'm afraid he's been expelled. Yes, Mrs. Cartman. He attacked Craig Tucker in the cafeteria. Yes. No, there's about a hundred witnesses. A few of the other students stopped him and it got a little rowdy. Yes. He'll be sitting on the curb, waiting. And if he sets foot in my school again, I'll have him arrested! I'm sorry.” He slammed the phone down.

“God damned Jew,” Cartman muttered, “It's not my fault that Craig drives like an idiot, and ended up scattering his boyfriend's brains all over Route 285!” He laughed, a cold and almost maniacal laugh. PC Principal just stared at him in shock.

“And you just _had_ to say it, didn't you?” Kyle spoke up, “You just couldn't _wait_ to see what Craig would do, when _you_ got to be the one who told him that Tweek was dead, and that _he_ was responsible for it?”

“CRAIG **IS** RESPONSIBLE!” Cartman yelled back, “And he doesn't _remember_?” He laughed again, “My fuckin' ass he _doesn't_! He _knows_ what he did! He's just playing all innocent so no one will blame him! Craig's always been a dick, but when he got that car, he _really_ was! Rubbing it in everyone's face, walking around with his stupid rainbow flag shit, and him and Tweek all like...”

“You're the one who cut his tires that first time, aren't you?” Kenny spoke up, “And probably the last two times too?”

Cartman smirked at him. “Prove it, Kinny!”

“So how was it, waking up naked in the mud, face-down, chained to a tree, out at Stark's pond summer before last?” Kenny asked bluntly.

Cartman's jaw dropped.

“I was there!” Kenny said, but his voice was harsh, low, and gravely, “I _saw_ you do it!”

And Kyle recognized that voice.

_Mysterion!_

“OK, well I'm sure that Officer Yates will be interested in _this_ ,” PC Principal noted.

“The joke was on you, Craig already had new tires ordered the last time,” Kenny laughed, his voice once again normal. But Kyle was staring at him, eyes wide.

“Sir, if I may excused?” Kenny asked, “I have to _go_?”

PC Principal nodded. He then turned to Cartman.

“Kyle, leave,” the man said flatly, cracking his knuckles.

Kyle did that, looking up and down the hallway for Kenny.

Kenny didn't go to the restroom, however. He walked over to the gym, and as a class was in session, the showers were empty. Someone had left a bar of soap. He stood under the hot water, washing until he felt scalded. Not bothering to dry off and dress, he stood in front of a mirror and just stared at the reflection that he didn't recognize.

It wasn't a little boy staring back at him anymore.

Kenny wasn't sure who it was.

_Damn, but don't we look like shit?_

_Speak for yourself, I think I look goooood!_

“This can't go on,” Kenny whimpered, pulling the insulin syringe that he'd heisted from Scott from the pocket of his trousers. It was, Kenny knew, what Scott called a “bolus” - a massive dose of fast-acting insulin for extremely high blood sugar emergencies. He removed the cap and pulled the plunger back, making sure there was a large bubble of air with the insulin.

“It's not suicide, not really. It's just a reset, and tomorrow will be different,” Kenny told the reflection, who seemed indifferent. “Tomorrow will still be today.”

At least the Voices were silent this time, as he lay back on the bench.

“I hope you can do this again, Craig, because I'm not sure _I_ can.”

And Kenny McCormick wept. It wasn't crying. No, there was a difference between crying and weeping.

Kenny wept.

He didn't know if he could face 'today' a fourth time.

Knowing that he had to.

 _You've destroyed Kyle, Cartman, Clyde, and PC Principal's lives this time!_ He thought, _You did this_.

Very carefully, just as he remembered from Biology, Kenny sank the needle deep into his carotid artery and pressed the plunger.

And while it might have been the insulin, an NDE, or just psychosis, Kenny couldn't be sure. But he was sure that the last thing he heard was someone screaming:

“ **KENNY!** ”

 


	5. Small Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: You take what small, even silly, victories you can win every day. It's not the first day of school for everyone after all. Just for one boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place “every day” in the Timeline. It could be any day, before anyone ever leaves their house that fateful morning. Warnings and apologies again, as this not a happy chapter.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 5**

**Small Victories**

*

 

All over the quiet little mountain town, alarm clocks were ringing as the eastern sky began to lighten. It was, naturally, cool outside. Hints of spring were in the air, and the snow was beginning to melt. Here and there, bits of green grass were showing on lawns, and impatient flowers like crocus were already beginning to bud. That word didn't really apply to several teenagers, however, who were all moaning and groaning about getting up so early to face another day. Of course, the day would be better for some, than for others.

At #1020, a two-story brown house, a teenage boy with blonde hair shut off his alarm clock and sat up in bed. He yawned and stretched, a small smile on his face. It was certainly a departure from the days of waking up to his own screams. He sang a silly little song about some apples as he showered, and styled his hard-parted hair to the side. He chose an outfit in complimenting shades of turquoise, then cleaned his glasses, careful of the 'frameless' lenses that gave him 20/20 vision. He opened the medicine cabinet to pop one immune-suppressant pill, then stood for a moment, taking in his reflection. He held his arms up. “Boy, it sure is nice to get bigger!” he chortled, his voice still squeaking, and heading down to breakfast with his mother.

He came down the stairs to the green living room, smiling at the off-center photo of himself and his mother, where someone else had obviously been Photoshopped out.

“Yes, Mom,” he replied to each of her suggestions.

“You seem chipper this morning! Now you be careful of germs, and drive carefully,” she concluded, clearing away the dishes when they were finished eating. “It's just amazing,” she added, as she put on her coat, “It's almost like you were meant to have that new cornea?”

Butters Stotch smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Yeah, I sure hope I can get by on just one pill a day!”

“Well, you just remember, Butters, some poor little boy died so that you could have that eye! If your body hasn't rejected it by now, it won't,” She reminded him, just as she did nearly every morning.

Butters sighed. “I know, Mom.”

“I'm sorry,” Mrs Stotch apologized, “I didn't mean to bring up...”

“It's OK, Mom. Really! I should go and get the art department ready at school, yeah!”

Butters waved as his mother pulled away, then went to his own car. He hadn't been driving solo for very long, but he liked the Impala. It was a “big old boat,” and his mother thought it was a safe car. What she didn't know was that the Impala SS had a 327 under the hood. Butters, however knew.

And he respected it. In fact, he was afraid of it. But thanks to Craig, he knew all about it.

“Thanks for the car, Grandma,” Butters said, as he started the engine, “Rot in peace, you...you skanky old cunt!” He laughed, as he adjusted the mirror and smiled at himself. He remembered the dumpy little boy with the yellow poof of hair. “Well, you girls just keep pining away,” he grinned, “And, uh, yeah! That's me!”

Butters stopped on his way to school, but he looked as if he might cry as he read the sign in the window of the shoppe: CLOSED INDEFINITELY.

“Awww, hamburgers!” He complained, setting off for the other stop he had to make.

*

At #2001, a boy with black hair slapped the snooze button twice, blowing eighteen minutes, cursing at _**Big Harry and Mike in the Morning**_. “Oh, God,” he groaned, slowly getting out of bed and making his way to the bathroom. When he was done, he raked a comb through his hair a few times, uncaring, and went back to his room to find some clothes. He pulled on a red shirt and blue jeans, and shrugged on a brown jacket. He flicked a red poofball hat out of his way as he dug around in the drawer, looking for clean socks.

For a moment, he considered taking a pull on the green bottle hidden in the back of the drawer.

“No, I can do this,” Stan Marsh sighed, slamming the drawer shut. It caused a framed 5x7 picture of last year's baseball team to topple over. Stan righted it again, his fingers lingering on the glass for just a moment before he went downstairs.

_And it's a grounder to center, the pitcher misses it, but the shortstop throws to first, and … he's out! Looks like #7 may have been a sacrifice, but #5 has scored!*_

“Sacrifice,” Stan mumbled.

“Breakfast, Stan?” His dad asked, as he passed by the kitchen table.

“I'm good,” Stan mumbled, grabbing a single-serving milk bottle from the fridge and making a face.

“Have a good day at school!” Randy Marsh offered.

“Fuck you, Dad,” Stan muttered under his breath, as he went out to the old Jeep Cherokee and hoped that it would start. But if it didn't, he'd at least learned enough from Auto Mechanics to fix it (probably) before he'd dropped the class.

Back in the house, his mother sighed, “When was the last time that boy ate a meal with us?” Sharon Marsh wondered.

“He's just a typical, angsty, douchebag of a teenager,” Randy replied, not looking up from the paper, “It'll pass.” He sipped his coffee. “Thank God that Shelly's outta the house, at least! Two more years, and we're rid of him, too!”

*

In the green house at #1002, a boy with red hair (but no freckles, thank you) rolled out of bed. He yawned and stretched, having taken a bath the night before. It made sense to him, as all he had to was fix his hair, which wasn't hard. The tight curly mop, now buzzed fairly short, didn't need much care. He dressed in a cyan polo shirt and olive cargo pants, then tried to find his orange jacket.

On the corner post of his bed still hung a green ushanka hunting hat, unworn for at least five years. He didn't know why he kept it. “Sentimental, I guess,” he mumbled, picking it up anyway.

Passing through the family room, he noticed that the large yaoi picture had been replaced with a landscape. “When did that happen?” Kyle wondered, feeling his stomach lurch.

“And how's my little bubbula this morning?” His mother greeted him, serving up 'who knew what', but whatever it was certainly being Kosher.

“Fine, Ma,” Kyle replied, glancing over at his ten year old brother. He wore a baby blue hoodie, his favorite color, and gray trousers over too-big hiking boots. The boy's black hair stuck up in the back, and he was eating with a decided lack of interest. “You want a ride this morning, Ike?”

“Hell yeah!” Ike replied, smiling.

“Language, IKE!” Sheila shouted.

“Mmm-hmmm,” their father agreed, sipping coffee and staring at his phone. He then put it aside and grabbed his coat and briefcase. “Gotta run!” He kissed his wife goodbye, “Still a lot of work to do on that case against the trucking company whose driver hit Cra-...” He paused. “Who, uhm, hit that red car some months ago.”

“That shit's not settled yet?” Kyle exclaimed, “Jesus, Dad! That was back after school started!”

“KYLE!” Sheila shouted, “Don't use Jesus' name in vain, even if we don't believe he's divine!”

“It was the trucker's fault, though, right?” Kyle asked, his expression suddenly depressed.

“I can't discuss it, you know that, so stop asking,” Gerald told his son, patting the boy's head on the way out. “Springy! Have a good day, Cory!”

“I do NOT look like Cory from _**Boy Meets World**_!” Kyle protested.

“No, your hair's too red, Kyle,” Sheila put in. Kyle snorted. Ike laughed. He'd been bingeing on the old show on Hulu.

“You look just like him!” Ike agreed.

“I am NOT Ben Savage!” Kyle protested, picking at his food. His mother groused at him. Kyle ate a bit more. “C'mon, Ike,” he finally sighed, as they headed out the door after obligatory hugs and kisses. _Kill me now,_ Kyle thought, as they both got in the old Jetta. “What's wrong, Ike?” Kyle noticed, making sure the seat belts were fastened, and the airbags were on.

“Filmore's been making fun of me for being Canadian,” Ike sighed, “He says I have beady little eyes.”

“Oh,” Kyle nodded, reaching for his book bag. He planted the green ushanka hat on his little brother's head. “Well now he can't see the cowlick or flat spot!”

Ike gasped. “For me?!” He stared at his reflection in the side mirror all the way to school.

“Dry this morning?” Kyle asked, as they waited at a red light. He was distracted by what his father had said, and then immediately regretted asking it.

“Yeah,” Ike answered with a sniff, “Third day in a row. I just wish Mom wouldn't buy those damn things when I'm with her in the store!” Ike exclaimed, “It's humiliating! She said it right in front of Billy the last time!”

“Congratulations,” Kyle smiled at him, “Not on the store thing, I mean!”

“It's like, thanks Mom!” Ike complained, “Now the whole damn class knows I wet the bed.”

“So did Cartman, until he was twelve,” Kyle had to laugh. “You know who else was a bedwetter?”

“Who?”

“John Elway!” Kyle made it up. Hell, he didn't know!

“Who's that?” Ike wondered, which got him a shocked look from Kyle.

When they arrived at school, both boys got out. “Kick the baby?” Kyle asked, snickering.

“Don't kick the god-damn baby!” Ike replied, as it was their own little joke, a morning ritual. “Thanks for the hat, Kyle!” Ike hugged him.

“Oh – my – God!” Another boy said, dressed all in black with black floppy hair, “That's so... kindergarten!”

“Hey, Firkle!” Ike greeted him.

“Hey, Ike,” Firkle replied, “What's with the hat?”

“It was mine,” Kyle told him, “I gave it to Ike.”

“I think I'm gonna barf,” Firkle snorted, “I don't like it,” He added.

“Well, I do,” Ike told him, winking at Kyle, who then grabbed Firkle and hugged him.

“STOP! The _fuck_ is this?!” Firkle protested, although he didn't really struggle all that much as Kyle and Ike laughed at him. When Kyle released him, Ike put his arm around the dark boy's shoulders. “You're the only reason I come to this shit-hole every day, Ike. But can we please lose the hat?”

“No,” Ike repeated, “Unless we're shoving it up Filmore's ass?”

“Thanks, Kyle,” Firkle said, as he glanced back with a heavy sigh. “Sounds good to me, Ike!”

Getting back in the car, Kyle paused as he caught a glimpse of the playground. His eyes lingered on the bench just in front of the curved jungle gym for a moment. A boy in a green hoodie, maybe a third grader, was sitting there, staring at a boy in a blue insulated vest who didn't seem to notice him.

Kyle blinked.

Then he sighed and drove away.

*

At #2210, a brunette boy smacked his alarm clock and sat up, leaning against the headboard for a bit before getting up. He'd been having the most wonderful dream, and the alarm had ruined it. He'd been on the hill firing tacos from the taco launchers, aimed at PC Principal's frat house. But instead of wasting them, which upset him to no end, Clyde suddenly found himself with a bushel basket, running to catch the flying tacos that everyone was firing at him. Then everyone was clapping. Kyle was saying that he thought that Caitlyn Jenner was stunning and brave, and then they all sat and ate tacos together.

Clyde got up and tossed his olive green pajamas in the hamper. After showering, he stood in front of the mirror for a while, admiring himself. It wasn't so much admiration, though, as it was relief. Before he dressed, he picked up a paper from his dresser and read it over and over again. The letterhead read: _**Denver Children's Medical**_.*

The letter had come the day before, but Clyde had read it at least fifty times since. He read it again. He put it back on the dresser, next to a photo of a woman holding a small, bald boy on her knee. The boy was smiling, but clearly in the hospital. He had a naso-gastric feeding tube in place, and an IV. He might have been four or five years old. They'd always said he'd never remember it, but he did.

Vividly.

And every year, he dreaded the annual checkup. He was terrified of what the doctors might find. He was more terrified of that than he was of ginger kids, who'd kidnapped him out of his bed one night. He just hoped that Cartman and those guys never found out just what kind of checkups he had to have. He'd never hear the end of ripping on that one, if they did.

“They shoved a video camera up your ass?!” Cartman would laugh.

“All test results negative!” Clyde smiled brightly at the naked boy in the mirror, “See you next year!” He said to himself, running his fingers over the scar at his right side. He flexed a few times, feeling proud of himself. He also hoped that no one ever found out that his left testicle was a saline-filled implant, as he rubbed a bit of Andro-gel on. “Continue recommended minimal testosterone treatments,” he remembered from the letter, “Serum levels mid-range normal. Do not increase dosage!”

**NO EVIDENCE OF DISEASE**

And as it was spring, and he was very excited about baseball (the only boy who was, it seemed) Clyde dressed in his baseball uniform, counting the hours to first practice. He styled his hair, and attached his cap to his elastic belt. “I'm not fat!” He told the mirror, and indeed, he wasn't. Clyde Donovan was solid.

On his way out of his room, he paused to straighten the 8x10 photo of five smiling boys. He stared at it for a while, then sat down on his bed and cried.

It was a running joke that Clyde did that a lot. He'd cry at the drop of a ham sandwich, or so everyone thought. A taco, well maybe. He'd even earned the nickname 'Crybaby' in elementary school. And even though Bebe assured him (and everyone else) that he was just a sensitive and caring boy, it didn't help. Things just got to Clyde more than they seemed to get to others. That, or he just wasn't as good at hiding his emotions. After all, that school year had been hell for him so far.

_See? Now you made me lose control of my emotions, God dammit!_

“I just hope you still can, Craig,” Clyde mumbled, wiping his face and summoning up the determination to face the day. “It's like I lost _two_ friends,” Clyde told himself, “What the fuck do they _expect_?”

As his father would have already left for work, Clyde and his little sister had cereal. As Kyle had with Ike, he gave her a ride to school. As she got out of the Ranger, she giggled. “Look, Clyde! There's Ike and that Goth kid!” She lowered her voice, “I think they're gay!”

“So?” Clyde replied, a bit harshly.

“I think it's cute, is all!”

“Oh!”

“I hope your friend is OK today,” she waved goodbye, slamming the door.

“Don't slam my doors!” Clyde shouted, as he tried to take off in third gear and killed it. He felt his face getting warm. “Fucking stick shift!” He complained, as he drove off. “I hope you do OK today, too Craig,” he said to himself, stopping to make a left turn to #1200* before he realized that Craig's mom, Laura, was driving him to school. He sighed and turned around. “I just hope he remembers who I am,” Clyde fretted, remembering all the times he'd nearly burst into tears when he'd had to reintroduce himself every single time at the Rehabilitation Center.

*

At the green house at #28201, things in the upstairs bedroom hadn't changed much in six years. There was more of an accumulation of things, but the décor was the same. Toys were scattered about, and a woman was yelling at the obese teen to get out of bed.

After leaving his Wellington Bear pajamas on the floor, and singing an old dittie about Lizzie Borden and her ax, he made his way down to breakfast after cleaning up. Sausage, eggs in two styles, buttered toast, and bacon. He smirked at the plate. “No jelly?” He complained.

“You know where it is, Eric,” Liane Cartman said coldly.

Muttering to himself, Cartman got up and fetched it himself. “Goddamn, do everything around here myself,” he grunted.

“Yes, _I_ do!” Liane reminded him, flipping another sausage patty onto his plate and splattering his shirt.

“The fuck is wrong with you, woman?” Cartman complained, “Now I have to change! Time for Aunt Flo again, Mom? I thought she died about five years ago?”

Liane glared at him. “Eat, or you'll miss the bus and have to walk,” she told him.

“Yeah, wouldn't have to worry about it if I had a car,” Cartman started the old routine again, “But oh, no! We can't afford a second car! Because we're poor! Fuck, I might as well move in with Kenny!”

“I wish you would,” Liane replied calmly, “And we can't afford a _new_ car, Eric. If you'd get a part time job, like all your friends, we could have easily afforded mother's old car.”

“It was a fucking _station wagon_ , Mom!” Cartman exclaimed, shocked that she'd brought it up again.

“And in excellent condition, and low miles,” Liane reminded him, “And a limited edition that could have been traded off for something you liked better! Once you proved that you were responsible enough, which you failed to do!” She reminded him.

“But Mommmmm,” Cartman whined, “All the other guys have licenses, and...”

“ENOUGH!” Liane slammed the skillet down on the stove. “I am not going to be here to take care of you for the rest of your life, Eric! It's time you grew up! And faking that murder mystery of your stuffed animals when you were nine didn't count!” She added, before he could mention it again. “This is exactly what I'm talking about, Eric! You're not nine years old! You're nearly seventeen!”

“And you're a selfish bitch!” Cartman retorted, shoving his plate back and going up to change. He left those clothes on the floor as well. When he came back down, he still wasn't done.

“So, let me get this straight, Mom? You want me to be responsible, get a job, get my own car, pay my own way, learn to work on it, and all that shit?” Cartman asked.

“Yes!”

“Oh, so just like Craig did, right? Whose brains do you want me to splatter all over Route 285, when I do all that? Kyle's?” Cartman paused. “Oh, that'd be coooool!” He snickered.

“I heard what you were talking about to Kenny last night,” Liane informed him.

“You were spying on me?!” Cartman yelled, “You're a lying, _spying_ bitch, Mom? Oh my God! I cannot believe this!”

“You're going to be eighteen before you get a license now, Eric, after those wicked, horrible things you said!” Liane informed him. “Why those boys hang around with you, I'll never know!”

“Well maybe you'd be happier if one of _them_ was your son!” Cartman retorted.

“I WOULD!” Liane shouted back at him, “And so help me God, Eric, if I hear that you've said anything bad to Craig today, or done anything to hurt his feelings, you _will_ regret it!”

“Oh, like what'r you gonna do, Mom? Seriously?” Cartman snorted, slamming the door on his way out. “Fucking retard! I can't wait to see how fucked up Craig is! This should be sweet!” Cartman said to himself, as he made his way to the bus stop, where he stood, all alone, waiting in the melting snow. “Ha! Maybe he'll have to ride the short bus with Timmy and Jimmy and Nathan and them! That'd be hilarious!” He laughed, although there was no one there to hear him.

Cartman looked around. “Weak,” he added with a sigh.

*

For Token Black, the hardest choice of the morning was whether to pack lobster or snow crab for lunch. He liked cold, leftover caviar, as it went better with lobster. He then had to decide whether he wanted the cashmere sweater, or the blend. And whether to drive the Lexus or the Rover to school? He decided upon the Rover, as it was four wheel drive. He sighed, having had an argument with his parents that morning over his classes.

“But I want to transfer to Auto Shop, Dad!” Token had protested.

“WHY?!” His mother gasped.

“So I can learn to work on my own car, and save money!” Token explained.

“You just want to help fix up that poor boy's Corvette, don't you?” Steve Black asked.

Token looked down at his plate of sauteed mushrooms, with various other organic veggies and sausages imported from who-knew-where. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Does he even know who you are yet?” His mother asked.

“If I remind him, every time I go see him,” Token answered glumly. “He didn't even know his mom when he woke up.”

“Son, you've already blown a year's allowance on car parts for that silly thing,” his mother reminded him, “And just what is this 'intake manifold' that rises high, that UPS brought yesterday?”

“It's not silly, Mom! It's Red Racer! And it's an Edelbrock aluminum high-rise intake for the gas.”

“It's a totaled-out car, son,” Steve reminded him, “You could have just bought a fully restored classic like it from Ebay and saved the work.”

Token sighed again. “Yeah, but it's all he's got left, Dad. Now that Tw-T...” Token closed his mouth.

“I'm sorry about your nervous little friend with the coffee shoppe, son,” Mrs Black told him again, for the hundredth time, it seemed, “But you have to remember, he was a -”

“His name was _Tweek,_ Mom!” Token snapped, leaving the table abruptly. He slammed the door on the way out. As he slammed the door on the Rover, too, Token sniffled. “And he was my friend,” he finished her sentence.

*

Earlier that morning, at #1200, no alarm was ringing. The room was dark, the phosphorescent stars, moons, and planets stuck to ceiling having lost their glow around three in the morning. That was long enough, though, as the black-haired boy was always fast asleep by eight. Beneath the heavy quilt patterned in rocket ships and stars, the boy slept, curled up in the fetal position on his left side. He cuddled a large body pillow, which looked like a giant guinea pig. A real guinea pig was curled up on the pillow next to his head, also fast asleep. Soft music was playing on a loop from the computer.

The door eased open and the light came on.

“Craig?” The lady in white whispered, so as not to startle him, “Craig, it's time to get up,” she gently nudged his shoulder and then lowered the safety rail.

The boy moaned and shifted, rubbing his eyes. Stripe looked up, squeaked a few times, and licked his ear. The boy smiled, taking Stripe in his hands and cuddling him to his face.

“You're supposed to put Stripe back in his house at night,” Nurse Gollum reminded him.

“I...I n-know, I'm s-sorry,” Craig slurred his words, yawning, as the nurse took his vital signs. She then pulled back his blankets.

Craig blinked. He laughed. “You g-got a d-dead baby s-stuck to y-your head?” He seemed fascinated.

“Yes, it's a conjoined dead fetal twin,” Nurse Gollum reminded him. “Do you know me, Craig?” She asked, brushing some Stripe-hair from Craig's white flannel pajamas.

Craig thought about it. “Y-yes, you're m-my n-nurse, Nurse G-G-Golly,” He stammered, “I r-re-remember now!” He blushed. “I...I'm sorry I l-laughed at you.”

“It's worth it, to see you smile,” Nurse Gollum assured him, watching as Craig sat up. She smiled at the nickname he'd given her while in rehab. He remembered his routine, carefully watching his right foot as he took the first step. He carefully put Stripe back in his cage. Nurse Gollum noted that he didn't stutter so badly when he was talking to the small animal. Stripe 'complained' loudly.

“I have to go to s-school, Stripe,” Craig told him, as if Stripe understood. He paused. “I g-get to g-go back to s-school, r-right, N-nurse? To-today?” He seemed excited.

“Yes, you do,” Nurse Gollum nodded, patting the bed.

“I can do...do it m-m-myself,” Craig protested, “I'm n-not a b-b-baby!”

Nurse Gollum let him try, but getting the white support socks off was almost too much. Craig was already getting flustered.

“I n-know, blood c-clots,” Craig huffed, finally getting the socks off. Then he carefully got to his feet. He wobbled, but didn't fall. He exhaled hard, carefully putting weight on his right leg. “Do y-you have t-to help m-me sh-shower?” Craig blushed.

“I won't look,” Nurse Gollum promised, picking up a toy Matchbox car from the floor. “Didn't Clyde give you that?”

Craig studied the car. “Who?”

“Your best friend, Clyde? The boy with brown hair who came to see you almost every day at the Center?”

“Oh, yeah, I...I th-think so,” Craig agreed, as the nurse followed him to the bathroom. She sat on the small stool by the sink, and turned her head. Craig tossed his pajamas and underwear to her.

“That's too hot, Craig,” she commented, as the room steamed up. When the pink boy emerged from the shower, she held up a large towel, keeping her promise to not look as she helped dry him off. She handed him a pair of Red Racer print boxer shorts and fixed his hair. “OK, let's get our morning PT done!”

“I d-don't want to,” Craig protested, but it did no good. Back in his room, she helped him down onto the mat on the floor so that she could work his right leg and arm, making him talk the whole time. When they were done, Craig looked sad. “I l-like you, M-ma'am, but I...I h-hate this.”

“You didn't want Clyde to help, remember?” Nurse Gollum reminded him, as she picked out a white sweatshirt with two red R's on it, black cargo pants, and a blue jacket.

“I w-want my hat,” Craig insisted, looking around for it, and finding it in his bed. Craig had to have help with his shirt, as his right arm didn't go up high enough, and he had problems getting his right leg into his trousers. He was able to slip his low-top hiking shoes on, as they were laceless. Nurse Gollum fitted his hat for him, fluffing up the yellow poofball.

“I remember you had one of these in third grade,” she reminded him, aligning the flaps of the chullo just so, so that the right flap would cover Craig's scar.

For Craig, going down the stairs was easier than going up. He managed it all right, and took his morning meds. He ate his breakfast without protest, which was (according to his mother) one benefit of “New Craig”. Still, Craig watched her every move, as if he didn't trust her.

“W-where's D-Dad?” Craig asked, looking lost.

“He's at work, remember? He goes in early,” Laura Tucker reminded him. She paused, looking sad. “You still don't know me, do you, Honey?”

“I...I'm s-sorry, n-no,” Craig confessed.

“Hey, Craig!” His little sister Tricia greeted him, as she got to sleep later.

“H-hey, Ruby,” Craig replied, blinking. “T-Tricia!”

“WHY does he call me 'Ruby'?” Tricia sniffed, “Is it 'cause he had a stork?”

“Stroke,” Nurse Gollum corrected her, nodding, “Mrs Tucker, Craig did very well this morning. I don't think I'll need to come back after this week. I'm very proud of him!”

“At least he doesn't have to eat that gross baby food anymore!” Tricia smiled, taking her brother's hand.

“I...I l-liked the b-beef stew wuh-one?” Craig protested. His face then hardened. “I d-don't wanna r-ride the bus!” He declared, “I w-wanna...I wanna...dri-” he paused. Everyone waited. “Oh, y-yeah. The a-ac-ac-sid-sid-”

“Accident, yes,” Laura finished for him, “It's OK, Honey. Do you remember the car?”

Craig thought about it. In his mind, it was dark. He saw headlights. “There uh...are f-four lights,” he said, as the adults exchanged looks. “Eh...and he...he s-screamed?”

“Who screamed?” Laura prompted him nervously.

“I...I d-dunno,” Craig sighed, as the scene left him. “Me?”

“I would have,” Nurse Gollum agreed, changing the subject. “Good luck on your first day back at school, Craig,” she encouraged him, giving him a peck on the cheek. Craig looked disgusted. Tricia giggled.

“Why don't you head to the bus stop and meet your friends, Baby?” Laura suggested to her daughter, walking her to the door as they took their leave of Nurse Gollum.

Tricia sighed as the nurse drove away. “I miss Tweek, Mommy,” the little girl sighed.

“I know,” Laura sniffled, “We all do.”

“Is Craig ever gonna remember him?” Tricia asked.

Laura thought about it. It took a moment for her to answer. “I don't know, Baby. I sort of hope not.” She then hugged her daughter, losing her fight to not cry.

“It'll be OK, Mom,” Tricia promised.

From the window, Craig watched them. He felt bad for Tricia, knowing that he was to blame for it. As for the lady, the one who called herself 'Mom', he wasn't sure. He liked her well enough, but he was still sort of afraid of her. More than anything, he wanted his father. If Dad was there, it'd be OK, Craig knew. He trusted Dad.

He knew him.

“I love _you_ ,” Dad always said.

*

On the other side of the railroad tracks, which some called 'the wrong side', another boy awoke. The house he lived in was run down, little more than a falling-in shack, and surrounded by the ruins of old buildings that had once been 'THE place to be'. A crumbling sign near the front yard read: SODOSOPA.

As he did on 'those' mornings, Kenny McCormick's eyes opened suddenly. He drew a sharp breath, as if surprised and frightened to be waking up in his own sagging bed. He greeted the dim light of day with a curse.

“SHIT! I'm alive!” Kenny exclaimed, feeling himself all over. He was, as usual, inexplicably wrapped in a patched and dirty baby blanket that was far too small for him. Tossing back his patched and raggedy blankets, he sat up. A brown and white rat squeaked at him.

“Morning, Rhaegal,” Kenny greeted the rat. He checked his stash, hidden in an old ammo box under a loose floor board. He gave the rat a bit of old eggroll from work. Rhaegal seemed delighted and scampered off. He grabbed a few dollars from his stash, mainly earned from Mr Lu Kim's part time job. It would be enough for a snack on the way to school for him and Karen, before they went to the cafeteria to have free breakfast, courtesy of PC Principal's administrative changes. It was food, at least.

The room was cold, as Kenny expected. The furnace hadn't worked for as long as he could remember, mainly because no one could afford fuel oil for it. He shivered, dressing quickly in long underwear and heavy clothes. Thanks to his job, and knowing which washer at the laundromat had a short in the switch, at least his and Karen's clothes were clean now, if not rough. He regretted the money he'd had to spend on a pair of new yellow work boots, but there'd been no choice. His old ones were a size too small, and the soles were coming off. He stopped to look at his reflection in the cracked mirror on the back of his door.

The young man staring back at him was thin. His face was pale, and his dirty-blond hair stuck up all over. He finger-combed it quickly, noting that he didn't smell. That was the next clue: he was clean. There wasn't a mark on him anywhere. Still, his countenance was pale and sickly. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his lips were not colored well. His hair felt dry.

All the signs of malnutrition.

All the signs of resurrection.

“Shit, here we go again, for what – the third time? Fifth?” Kenny wondered, having lost count. He looked at the old digital watch that he'd found at the Goodwill. He read the date. “I could use a fifth! Same damn day, again,” he sighed, turning to make up his bed. For all the good it would do. He made a mental note to sneak his laundry in to the Home Ec room, as it was too long to payday, and that money was already spent. Karen needed a new coat, that was all there was to it. Spring or not, South Park, Colorado was still cold.

He sat back down on the bed to tie his boots, then put his head in his hands. He fought back the urge to cry, willing himself to not look at the picture on the night stand.

He met Karen in the hallway, taking her hand. They passed through the living room, headed quickly for the door. There was no sign of their parents, and the quiet meant that they were still probably in bed, passed out from God-knew-what.

Kenny liked it like that. It made things easier.

It was a small victory, but Kenny was willing to take it.

“Bus today?” Karen asked.

“No,” Kenny replied, waiting a moment, as a midnight blue Impala SS pulled up. They got in. “Thanks so much, Leo,” Kenny sighed, collapsing into the back seat.

“Uh, boy, Ken, you look awful?” Butters noted.

“I slept too long, too deep,” Kenny explained, and it was the truth. Resurrection Mornings, as he called them now, always sucked. It was as if there were nothing left over for him to run on, and this was at least the fourth or fifth time that he done it in a row. _I've got to stay alive a while this time_ , he decided.

“You weren't out last night?” Butters asked, turning up the heat for his guests.

“Were you?”

“Oh, hamburgers, no!” Butters gasped, “I don't do that no more, Ken!”

“I see,” Kenny had to smile, remembering all the times he'd fought Professor Chaos in his Mysterion persona, before the two had discovered each others' secret identities.

 _Good thing I didn't kill him, huh?_ The Other asked, in Kenny's head, _He's cute!_

 _Oh shut the fuck up, it's too early for YOU!_ Kenny told It. Told himself.

“Today's Craig's first day back, Ken! Did you know?” Butters asked excitedly.

“Yeah, I know,” Kenny groaned, asking if they might stop for coffee and donuts. _God, do I KNOW!_

“They're closed,” Butters reminded him sadly.

“Pick a place, I'll buy,” Kenny offered, “Any old place is fine.”

 _Craig's first day back,_ Kenny thought, _Oh God, please let this time be good!_ He prayed, wondering if he'd get answer.

He didn't expect that he would, watching the red eastern sky filling with threatening clouds.

“Sailors take warning,” Butters put in, looking up at the sky, as if he'd sensed Kenny's thoughts, “Red sky?”

“Yeah,” Kenny groaned, as Butters wheeled the Impala into the donut shop.

After they'd had a bite, Butters politely waited for Kenny to finish his cigarette, chatting with Karen in the warm car.

 _Good ol' Butters,_ Kenny thought, staring at the red sky, and finding himself praying for Craig.

He didn't expect an answer to that one, either.

*

At the red house located at #20288, the room was quiet and cool, the heat vent closed off. Behind the locked door, which hadn't been opened in months, all was just as it had been left. Thin rays of morning sunlight found their way around the closed curtains, falling in stripes upon the cold, unmade bed which no one occupied.

The alarm clock futilely flashed 12:00. Dust covered the night stand and computer desk, the machine cold and silent, the monitor blank. A headset lay in the dust, as if suddenly discarded long ago, next to a coffee mug printed with the words: JAVA JOCKEY. The coffee had long since dried up, and even the mold that had grown in it had shriveled. Cobwebs hung in the corners and over an empty bird cage, next to an inflatable clown that had gone flat. In a box in the closet, countless Legos waited for someone to play with them. Even more were scattered about the floor around the dresser, guarding the drawer where underpants and boxing gloves were tucked safely away in the darkness.

Next to the dresser sat a battered, dusty, beheaded garden Gnome figurine - a warning for others.

No had come to pick up the discarded paper coffee cups. The waste basket by the desk was full, the dates on the crumpled printouts far from current. In the dusty backpack leaning on the desk's leg, a laptop computer with a dead battery waited. Between it and a copy of the book **A Separate Peace** , a meticulous report in a clear folder waited to be handed in.

A pair of belted and cuffed 28x30” pants hung over the computer chair, along with a pink pullover shirt. A patterned shirt in two-tone green lay over it.

Buttons were just too difficult.

Beneath the chair, a pair of size 7½ shoes waited, collecting dust.

Through a murky glass, two boys in an 11x14 framed photograph stared across the room, frozen in time. They stood in front of a pair of cars: a black Lincoln, and a red Corvette. It was a rare thing, a print made from a 35mm film negative.

_Of course it'll be good! It's analog optics! You can't beat Nikon F-series cameras!_

The only sound to be heard was a soft tsch-tsch-tsch, coming from an old turntable where a 33 RPM record spun pointlessly. The needle had long since gone dull, with no one to shut it off, the song long since played out. A clump of dust obscured the needle. Next to the retro stereo, a roll of shot film waited to be developed. A dusty little media card sat next to it, along with a scribbled report on yellow notebook paper: **ANALOG vs. DIGITAL, A Subjective Quality Analysis.**

The report was only one paragraph long.

Unfinished.

Just like the potential of the boy who hadn't come home that night.

_You're capable of more than you think!_

Downstairs at the kitchen table, two of three set places were occupied. Only one coffee pot was on, the other empty, but loaded with water and grounds, waiting for someone.

“Are we going to open the shoppe today?” The man asked, his voice low, as if afraid of disturbing the silence.

The woman shook her head.

Out in the locked garage, a black Lincoln with the keys in the ignition sat waiting. On the keyless entry pad, the numbers 30197 were nearly rubbed off. Anyone good with codes might have realized that the numbers coincided to letters, but for the “R”.

They spelled out C0AIG.

And like the rest of Tweek's things, the car waited.

Waiting for the boy who wasn't going to school that morning.

*** Footnotes:**

Lice Capades and Clyde's hair. Clyde styles his hair and doesn't wear a hat. Is he just happy to have hair?  
Mystery of the Urinal Deuce – Clyde had a colostomy at age 5. Colon section removed? Cancer?  
Quest for Ratings – Rumor that Clyde has only one testicle. Again, cancer?  
The List – Colostomy reversed/removed? Adoring himself in mirror.  
Tweek vs. Craig – #1010 The number changed in other episodes. House number taken from episodes.  
The Losing Edge, Tweek was #7, and Craig #5 (cc.com page ref)

 


	6. The Forest Hidden by Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare the for the Metaphysical. This shit's about to get heavy. The lightning strike on the final pass through Craig's first day back killed Kenny. But this time, he might not be coming back. Where has the Immortal gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this isn't a happy chapter, but it's hopeful. Warning: the accident is described. Kenny's mental state is further revealed, and grisly visions are relived.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 6**

**The Forest Hidden by Trees**

*

 

Walk on by.  
Ignore them.  
Spy on them.  
Get involved with them.

So far, none of the choices that Kenny McCormick had made had seemed to do any good. For anyone. Especially for him.

Not to mention Craig Tucker.

Things were getting worse.

It was, in a word, maddening.  
It was maddening to have a real superhero power, and find out that your power wasn't any good for doing shit.

Except for ruining lives, it seemed.  
Never mind what it did to your own!

Kenny had carefully considered all of this before using Scott Malkinson's insulin syringe the last time. Still, he could see no way out. If he died, the Timeline rewound itself to that same morning. If he died at ten at night, the transition was instantaneous for him: he awoke in his bed at about seven in the morning, thrown backwards in time for the day. A day to relive all over again, knowing what was coming, and hopefully change it.

True, he hadn't factored in being killed by a frying pan, or being run over by the school bus. But those were irrelevant. They hadn't been good days, after all.

He'd sure as _hell_ considered it before he'd shot himself in the head in the Auto Mechanics garage at school, sitting in the refurbished seat of Craig's Corvette where Tweek had died.

And that was just it – Tweek Tweak was dead.

Unlike Kenny, Tweek wasn't coming back.

It wasn't as if they'd really ever been close. Sure, they'd been polite. It wasn't as if they hated one another. In fact, Kenny wasn't really sure that the word 'friend' ever applied to them. After all, he'd been gone for a long time while Tweek, the new kid then, was making friends of Kenny's old friends. He'd been replaced. But, all things considered, Kenny was happy that Tweek had gotten the chance to have what he'd had for so long.

Such were the thoughts racing through his mind (other than wondering how bad it would hurt) when he'd pulled the trigger that last time.

But this time, something was wrong.

Something was _badly_ wrong.

Always before, the transition from death to resurrection was instantaneous. Well, most of the time. As Kenny had once said, as Mysterion, sometimes he saw Heaven. Other times, he saw Hell. But he always ended up right back in his bed. Usually there was nothing in that instant of death, though; it was simply pain, and then no pain. It was a flash of blackness, and then his grungy ceiling and lumpy mattress.

Yes, this time, something was very, very wrong! It was even worse than the time he'd cut a deal with the Devil and gone back to hell to reverse the damage done by the first US/Canadian War. True, he'd been granted admission to Heaven for his noble sacrifice, but when he'd gone to sleep in Heaven, he'd awakened back on Earth in his bed again. And, of course, no one had remembered that, either.

Kenny wondered what the difference could be. After all, dead was dead, right?

“The lightning!” Kenny realized, “It had to be the lightning!”

The fact that he had time, or something like time, to even realize that something was wrong was, in fact, the very proof of it.

“What the _fuck_ is this?” Kenny wondered, peering around at absolutely nothing. He had no words for it. There wasn't even blackness. There was, simply, _nothing_.

And so he waited.

And he waited.

Then he waited some more.

Still, there was literally nothing.

But on the bright side, there was no pain, either. There was no remorse, no regret, and no physical hurt. He didn't feel the least bit guilty, drifting in the quiet nothing.

Drifting, where he was alone.

“Where I can't hurt anyone else,” Kenny told himself.

For how long he drifted, he didn't know. He wasn't even sure that there _was_ Time. Of course, Craig could explain it, he was sure; he and/or Kevin Stoley. Those two nerds could go on and on for days on end about Star Trek, Star Wars, the nature of the Space-Time Continuum, and all that rot that only made Kenny's head hurt.

But what _about_ Craig?

As with Tweek, it wasn't as if they were close friends. Yet Craig had never laughed at Kenny, or called him anything like 'a poor piece of crap'. Craig had paid him to help with his school AV project in fourth grade, too, filming all those cute animals closeup with a wide angle lens. They'd been buddies for a field trip, once. Craig had even paid him to be a parts gopher, all those years he'd been restoring Red Racer after Kenny had found it in the Weatherheads' barn.

And Craig had been sooooo happy when Kenny had told him that if he needed a more powerful vacuum booster for oversized brakes, then the old station wagon rotting in Kenny's yard certainly had a good one on it. Hell, the wagon was huge; it certainly had to have a good braking system. Craig had been so pleased that he'd done Kenny's and Karen's laundry for two months!

Kenny sighed. At least, thought he did. There was no sensation of air, no sensation of muscle movement. But what would it matter anyway? If he did end up back in his own bed, it would only be to repeat Craig's first day back at school over and over and over. He didn't know how to break the cycle, unless he just lived through it, into the next day, to hope that it would be better.

“He'll still be dead, and Craig will still be a mess,” Kenny told himself, “What's the point?”

He drifted for a while long, unable to gauge the passage of time.

If only there were a way to go back further.

Let Craig stumble and catch himself.  
Let Craig stumble and bloody his nose, destroying his self-confidence.  
Catch Craig and help him inside.  
Ignore them all.

Unacceptable.

“Further back than that,” Kenny sighed again, “Seize the day? FUCK the day! I wanna erase this whole God-forsaken school year!”

Something that Craig had once said, arguing with Kevin...what was it?

“There's always a focal point where all these parallels meet,” Kevin was saying.

“There's an infinite number of breakpoints,” Craig had countered, “Every choice we make spawns a new quantum reality!”

“Oh, God, my head hurts!” Kenny decided, even though he currently lacked a head. Or anything else, for that matter.

Then, suddenly, the 'nothing' filled murky images of a night scene. It flashed by, it slowed down, it ran backward. It was all a jumble, until it finally settled.

One of Kenny's visions had just hit him.

*

'Red Corvette'

Those two words echoed in his mind over and over, as Kenny jumped up and ran to his room. His parents watched him go, more interested in their beer and TV than anything else. It seemed that they hadn't even heard the scanner's alert tone.

_...Route 285, MVA, possible fatalities..._

Kenny donned his Mysterion costume quickly, the voice of The Other screaming at him the entire time as he jumped out his window and took off for downtown on his bike.

“There's only one thing we can do about it, if it's him. If it's _them_ ,” The Other told him.

“I know that!”

_Hell, yeah, Kenny! I've got the parts. We can make a good bike outta all this junk!_

But first, he had to get to the police station. He had to know who, where, and exactly _when_ if he were going to change it. He nearly laid the bike over coming around a curve, onto the main drag, and nearly tore his shoulder out of the socket grabbing the back rail of a passing box truck. Pain seared through his arm as he forced himself to hang on, hoping that the bike's wheel bearings wouldn't burn out.

He let go about a block from the police station, letting the inertia carry him in. In the back alley, he seized the brakes and jumped. The bike crashed into some bags of garbage, and Mysterion landed atop a dumpster. He scampered up the fire escape, secured a rope to a toilet vent pipe, and repelled down to the window he usually used. He made no sound as he hid behind a filing cabinet, not wanting to be noticed this time.

“Head-on collision on 285,” Harrison Yates was shouting, “State Boys are en route, but let's get someone out there in case it's one of ours! Let's get the on-ramp blocked off!”

In the distance, Mysterion heard sirens. Certainly an ambulance, the fire department, search & rescue. He listened to the dispatchers. On the radio, an officer was giving his name and number, arriving on-scene. Mysterion heard the sound of a door slamming. The officer was getting out of his car. Everyone had gone quiet, listening.

“Red Corvette, '77 or so, vanity plate 'RED RACER', repeat, vanity plate 'RED RACER',” the first officer to arrive at the scene was reporting, “Eighteen wheeler and one car. Available units, be advised of a minivan, unrelated, heading towards South Park at a high rate of speed. Truck is on its side, repeat, truck has rolled. Load is paper goods, toilet paper spilled. Glancing blow to the truck's driver side, trucker has extricated himself from the cab and appears lucid.”

Mysterion braced himself.

“Second vehicle, red Corvette, driver is trapped.” There was a long pause. Mysterion thought he heard moaning. “Driver is alive, repeat driver IS alive!” There was a horrible squeaking sound, probably the driver's door being forced open. “Can you hear me, sir?” The officer was asking, “Was there anyone else in the car with you?”

Another pause. Another siren. A slamming door and scuffling steps.

“OH GOD!”

“Dispatch, confirm, there _was_ a passenger, apparently ejected! You there, look to the side, back there, where the skid marks change! He's probably in the grass!”

Sirens in the distance. Another long pause. Someone else was there, telling the driver to not try and move.

“Sir, I've found him. What's left of him.”

Mysterion nearly vomited. Several officers and hung their heads.

“Dispatch, we have a _fatality_. Repeat, one fatality.”

Mysterion felt his chest tighten. His stomach rolled, each word feeling like a kick to the gut.

There was only one person who would be in Red Racer's passenger seat, this late at night.

“I don't think this poor kid ever knew what hit him,” the officer then continued, as the sounds of approaching sirens on the radio grew louder. They masked the sounds of what Mysterion determined to be the officer being violently sick. He'd heard that sound many times in his life. He knew what unexpectedly losing your lunch sounded like.

His next words quickly became unspeakable.

 _Get a hold of yourself,_ The Other demanded, _We're professionals here!_

The sirens shut off one by one. There were jumbled sounds of shouted orders, and what sounded like an action scene from a hospital ER show on TV. It all became an audio blur as Mysterion stepped out from behind the filing cabinet. He envisioned the night filled with flashing red and blue lights, headlights and spotlights illuminating the scene.

He imagined blood on the highway.

And then the vision took him.

*

In the Void, it took Kenny again.

*

The early fall air was chilly, the breeze smelling of gasoline, diesel fuel, and burnt rubber. He was walking along 285, his eyes fixed on two black skid marks. Something was wrong, though. They were too short. They stopped, then resumed with two small piles of rubber residue – as if the car had slammed the brakes, then suddenly and violently accelerated again. The marks changed as had the gears – from perhaps second to third. Red Racer could 'bark 'em off' in fourth, even.

They curved, as if trying to avoid something.

Something that had forced the driver into a hopeless double-dodge, high-speed maneuver.

And then they stopped, meeting up with longer, thicker marks from at least a dozen truck tires. Fragments of truck and car parts littered the blood-soaked pavement. Mysterion bent down to reach for a fragment of cloth.

It was green, with a yellow button.

It was soaked in blood at the edge, and his hand passed through it as he grabbed for it.

 _ **NO**_! The disembodied boy screamed at the night.

*

“Alert Denver!” Someone shouted, “We need a chopper out here!”

“The passenger?” Someone else was asking.

“Well, what the _hell_ do YOU think?” Someone else replied, as if he'd just heard the most stupid question ever asked. “Dispatch, fatality _confirmed_.”

Someone else had located the passenger side door, fender, and hood in the opposite field.

“Looks like what's left of a blond, male, teen...” Another voice was saying.

Then Yates noticed their uninvited guest near the window. For a moment, he said nothing. He switched off the radio to headsets only.

“Neat trick, having the Broflovski kid pretend to be you a couple years ago, Mysterionnnnn!” He drawled the name. “Haven't seen you in a while! So, it's the kid in the red 'Vette. Tucker, isn't it?” Yates asked, “I know that license plate.”

Mysterion nodded. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat. As if on queue, a voice on the radio requested that someone notify Craig's parents. The sound of a helicopter began to fill the airwaves, as someone switched the radio back on. Yates glared at them.

“And the other boy?” Yates asked, although he didn't need to. He'd stopped at the coffee shoppe many times.

“Tweek T-Tweak,” Kenny's soft voice said from Mysterion's mouth.

“Give us ten minutes, before you tell your friends, all right?” Yates asked, “All you kids with your phones and social media, and...”

“Yes, sir,” Kenny replied, bowing his head.

He felt Yates nudge his shoulder. New pain shot up his sprained arm. He looked up to see the Detective offering him a can of Sprite.

“It'll either quiet your belly, or empty it,” Yates said, a slight quaver to his normally grouchy tone. “Look, kid, there's nothing you can do. You're too late.” He paused. “We're all too late. You want a ride home?”

Mysterion shook his head, as Kenny felt himself being mentally pushed aside.

The Other had taken over.

“I don't know who you are, Mysterion, and frankly, right now, I don't care,” Yates told him.

“Dispatch, ID's confirm Tucker, Craig, and Tweak, Tweek. Passenger Tweak, dead at the scene. Repeat, dead at the scene.”

“No, th-thanks,” Mysterion mumbled.

“Look, kid, I...” Yates began, but when he turned around again, Mysterion was gone.

Some time later, after what felt like pushing the bike for hours, Mysterion arrived at #1002. He threw a few pebbles at the bedroom window, his arm too sore to climb up. After about the fifth or sixth pebble, the window slid open.

“Bit old for this, aren't we?” Kyle Broflovski asked, not exactly sure when he'd last donned his Human Kite persona.

“Kyle, c-can I come in?” Mysterion asked, holding his arm to his side.

And Kyle knew, from the sound of his voice, that something was wrong. Any other time, and Mysterion would have simply climbed up and come in the window, uninvited. A minute later, and the front door opened. Kyle gasped in alarm as his friend hugged him. Kyle could feel him trembling.

“Kenny, what the hell's happened?” Kyle demanded.

“There's b-been an … accident,” Kenny explained, his voice slowly changing as Mysterion stepped aside again, “Craig's being airlifted to Denver. Tweek's dead.”

_Super-Craig is down, and Wonder Tweek is...beyond reviving._

Kenny gasped inwardly at how easily the last two words had come out.

Kyle just stared at him.

“I heard it on Stuart's police scanner,” Mysterion explained, breaking the embrace, “I went to the police station, and I heard them talking about it in real time. I don't know what happened, but for some reason, Red Racer was hit head-on by an eighteen wheeler. Tweek was ejected, and Craig's hurt bad.”

Kyle looked up to see red and blue lights in the distance.

“Timing should be about right,” Mysterion agreed, “We need to get online. Tell the others.”

“You need to clean up first,” Kyle told his friend, encountering no resistance as he reached for the Hero's cowl. As he pulled it back, letting it and the cape fall to the floor, Kenny burst into tears as Mysterion retreated. Kyle led him upstairs. “Take a bath. You can borrow some of my clothes,” Kyle told him, “After all, we can't let your secret out, can we?”

“Thank you, Kyle,” Kenny whimpered.

_Oh, this is pathetic!  
SHUT UP!_

“Kyle, who's in the bath at this time of night?” Gerald asked, coming down the hall in his robe and slippers. Then he noticed the expression on his son's face. “Kyle, what's wrong?” He asked anxiously.

“Craig and Tweek were an accident,” Kyle mumbled, poking away at his phone, “Kenny's here. Please, Dad?” Kyle begged.

Gerald nodded. “Just don't tell your mother. Are they hurt?”

“Tweek's dead, Dad!” Kyle cried, unable to finish his text. He blinked back tears and jabbed the CALL icon by Stan's name.

“Gerald?” Sheila wondered, “Don't you two wake Ike! What's going...” But the look on her son's face stopped her. She didn't remember the last time she'd seen Kyle crying.

“Ma, please?” Kyle managed, as Gerald explained it.

“I'll make some...something,” Sheila said, heading to the kitchen.

Within minutes, everyone knew as the word spread through social media and texts. There were disbelievers, certainly, but they changed their tune as Kenny posted “I heard it all on the police radio.” Stan's Jeep pulled up moments later. No one bothered to call Cartman.

“So help me, if that fat piece of shit says anything...” Kenny growled, sitting at the kitchen table with Kyle and Stan. He looked so wrong, wearing Kyle's clothes, with his hair combed. Stan commented that he really “cleaned up good.” The doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” Sheila offered, having put aside her dislike of Kenny for the moment, even preparing an ice bag for his arm. She led a very rattled Butters in. “He must have walked,” Sheila added, seating him at the table as well. “I'll make some more cocoa,” she added.

Moments later, Clyde arrived with Token and Jimmy.

“It had to be the trucker's fault,” Kyle mused.

“H-how the hell?” Jimmy wondered, “Craig w-wuz always so...so c-careful?”

“Except for when he was mad, or super-tuning,” Clyde corrected him.

“They said it was a glancing hit,” Kenny put in, “It sounds like Craig swerved to miss something?” He added, knowing they'd never believe it if he told them about the vision.

 _Craig braked for something, then jumped to full-throttle acceleration, to swerve again! If he'd just had about two more yards to work with!_ Kenny envisioned the 'Vette hitting third gear and kicking her ass sideways at speed, drifting sideways at about sixty-five or so, Craig pulling the emergency brake as he threw the clutch in, executing a perfect and graceful J-whip to avoid the truck.

“Poor...poor ol' Tweek,” Butters whimpered, Jimmy holding his arm.

“They won't tell you anything, even if they know,” Stan told Clyde, who was demanding that Siri connect him with the hospital in Denver.

“The one they take airlifts by chopper to! You chatterin' piece of sh-...” Clyde yelled at his phone, as Siri told him about all the hospitals in the Denver area.

“And you are?” The receptionist asked, over the speaker.

“I'm his b-best friend!” Clyde cried, “Please, Ma'am!”

The receptionist paused. “He's in emergency surgery right now,” she told them, “That's all I know. I'm sorry.”

“What the hell were they doing, going out 285 at this time of night?” Token wondered.

Kenny looked at the clock. He didn't bother trying to explain it to them, as the plan formed in his head. He would simply have to do it. After all, it wasn't as if they would remember it.

The clock read 11:32 PM.

 _It could be midnight, or it could be sunrise,_ The Other told him, _Best to not risk it!_

And Kenny agreed. He wasn't sure of the cutoff point, but he'd already decided to take no chances. Looking into the distraught faces of his friends, he knew what he had to do.

_I can wake up in bed again, it'll be seven or so in the morning, and I can prevent this!_

“Kinda makes you wish you really were superheroes, huh?” Stan offered.

“No,” Kenny replied gruffly, and they all looked up at him. “Kyle, thanks,” Kenny's voice returned to normal, “I'll bring your clothes back later, OK? I have to...go.”

“No problem, Kenny,” Kyle nodded, seeing him to the door. “You sure you don't wanna stay the night? I bet I can talk Ma into it?”

“No, Kyle, thank you,” Kenny replied, “I have something really important to do.”

They looked across the family room towards the kitchen, where they other boys were still talking. The platter of snacks that Sheila had put out was slowly going down, and she was sitting with them, listening, offering condolences. Despite what she might have thought of some of them, she was, after all, in her element.

“The perfect Jewish mother,” Kyle rolled his eyes.

*

Over and over, the Entity that had been Kenny McCormick replayed the vision in his mind. It was something, at least. Something in the void to alleviate the total sense of sensory deprivation. He found himself preferring to relive the vision, rather than relive the night at Kyle's house: the bath, borrowing Kyle's clothes, hiding his Mysterion costume in the bushes, and sitting around the Broflovski kitchen table with his friends. The bloodied highway was preferable, Kenny thought, than Sheila Broflovski's false front of sympathy towards him.

“No! I've put up with it for long enough, Kyle! I don't want that boy in this house anymore. He's a bad influence! And if he's that bad off, then Social Services should deal with him!”

_Welllll...Kyle's mom's a bitch, she's a big fat bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole, wide world!_

Maybe for once, Cartman had been right about something?

But he couldn't dwell upon that. No, the vision was more important. He was afraid it would fade, as some of the others had one in the past. He had to hold onto this one.

The damn tire tracks, the skid marks, just weren't right.

“Why would he slam the brakes like that, then try to accelerate?” Kenny kept wondering.

He concentrated on the skid marks. Once, he'd let his mind drift and found himself in the grass along the highway shoulder. A pale hand was reaching out from the ditch, it seemed, open, as if in supplication to someone – anyone – to take that hand hand and help.

The image was seared into his very being, and Kenny and the Other knew that they'd never be free of it.

If that were death, Kenny sadly realized, if it were real and permanent Death – then there was no peace. There was no rest to be had. His brief sojourn in Hell would be nothing, compared to seeing seeing what lay in the ditch.

And even in death, or whatever this _thing_ was, there were no answers. Each time he relived the vision, the ghostly policemen and other first-responders oblivious to him, he could only see the aftermath of the collision.

He could not go back far enough.

Eventually, he screamed.

But there was no sound.

There was no sound, until there suddenly was.

“Kenny?”

Had he been alive, had he had a beating heart, Kenny might have died of a heart attack.

“Kenny, why are you here?”

“I don't know,” Kenny replied, imitating the act of talking. How did a disembodied consciousness talk, anyway?

“I think you do,” that someone – or something – replied, its voice coming from nowhere, and yet, from everywhere all at once. “And you don't belong here.”

“Well, where the hell am I supposed to be? _Detroit_?” Kenny asked, receiving no reply for...well, he had no way to know for how long.

“Kenny,” that voice said again, as Kenny thought he was seeing something. Whatever it was, it was forming up in front of him. It was something. Something in color.

It was orange.

And then it was a young boy, perhaps ten, in an orange hooded parka. The stovepipe hood was pulled shut, hiding the boy's face, but for his blue eyes and a bit of blond hair.

“Whmpf oo foo mwnnu dho?” The boy mumbled.

“What?” Kenny asked, realizing that he was looking at himself, about six years younger.

The New Kenny lowered his hood, and his voice was a warbling alto, that of a boy whose voice is changing, but not quite there yet. Kenny noted that he was also taller, as if the closer he drew, the older he got.

“Where do you wanna go?” New Kenny repeated himself.

Time passed.

Or didn't.

“I don't know,” Kenny finally answered, grateful for finally having something to see and hear. Anything other than the damn replays of past visions.

“You're not bothered by this? By me?” New Kenny asked, holding out his arms.

“I don't care,” Kenny answered him.

“I think you do,” New Kenny disagreed, looking to be about fifteen or sixteen by then.

Again, time or not. Kenny thought of the concept of “time's arrow”. Craig had talked about that once.

_There's no logical reason for Time's Arrow to travel in only one direction – ahead!_

“I just wanna die,” Kenny confessed.

“But you _did_ die?” New Kenny wondered, but his tone sounded amused, “You shot yourself in the head, in the Auto Mechanics garage at South Park High School. You were sitting in Craig's Corvette, and it was storming outside. Remember?”

“I fucking remember _all_ of them!” Kenny retorted, feeling the flash of anger, and suddenly realizing that he seemed incarnate again. In what form, he wasn't sure, though. “Who _are_ you?” He finally asked.

“I'm you?” New Kenny shrugged.

“Why?”

“Because you brought me here,” New Kenny answered. Again, “Why are you here, Kenny? Why did you commit suicide? Again? And of all places, in _his_ car?”

“It's not a car, not anymore,” Kenny replied, “It's a hopeless pile of junk.”

“That's not what Clyde and those guys think,” New Kenny shook his head.

“How do _you_ know?” Kenny snapped, beginning to grow tired of the pointless exchange.

New Kenny shrugged. “Because I _am_ you. Or, at least, the image of you.”

Kenny paused.

“Why am I here?” Kenny then asked.

“I asked you first,” New Kenny smiled.

Kenny thought about all of the times he'd relived Craig's first day back at school. He thought about all those other, if not infrequent, random deaths. Then he thought about the visions again.

“Because I'm afraid to go back,” Kenny sniffled, “I...I can't go back.”

“Why not?”

“BECAUSE I FAILED!” Kenny cried, “I failed to help Craig! And I failed...” he paused again. He didn't know for how long.

It didn't matter.

New Kenny was patient.

“I failed to prevent the accident,” Kenny finally confessed.

“So far,” New Kenny agreed, “You killed yourself. You left Kyle's house, and you committed suicide. Again.” New Kenny thought about it for a bit. “Just like you did at the City of R'Lyeh, when Cthulhu banished you and your friends.”

“I had to go back, to the real world, to save them,” Kenny explained, “They'd have died!”

“Like Tweek died?”

“But...? But I can't go back again? I seem to be stuck here,” Kenny reminded him hanging his head, “At least, not far enough back! _You_ should know that? If you're me, you know that I...that we...can't go back further than the same morning. Or the morning closest to when I die. I...we always wake up, back in my bed at home!”

“We do. But why?”

“I don't know?” Kenny shrugged, “That's just how it is, isn't it?”

“Is it?” New Kenny answered with his own question. “Who said it was?”

“You?” Kenny asked.

New Kenny shook his head. But he did smile.

Kenny thought about it. “You mean to tell me, that _I'm_ the one who's been choosing to just start the _day_ over again? _That's_ why I end up in my bed, in the mornings?”

“Isn't that the whole point? A do-over?” New Kenny asked, “Seems to have worked out for you, so far? You're not eight years old anymore, Kenny. You've had enough do-overs to make it to sixteen.” New Kenny paused again. He looked very thoughtful, if not even older.

“What?” Kenny wondered.

“Kenny, why suicide? Why the worst thing that a human being can possibly do to himself?”

“Because... because I _had_ to die?” Kenny answered, confused, “I had to go back!”

“Why did you have to _die_?” New Kenny asked, “Couldn't you have just gone on?”

“No!” Kenny didn't hesitate, “I couldn't!”

“So, you decided to take your own life, in hopes that you could save others?”

“Yes,” Kenny answered, his voice hardly a whisper as he realized why he'd truly done it.

“It wasn't to eliminate your own pain, then? It wasn't to try and get out of what you call a miserable life?”

“There's others worse off than me,” Kenny explained, “Like Starvin' Marvin and his family used to be.”

“So you did it for the others, then?”

Kenny could only nod. He felt the tears coming.

“You did it, because you couldn't bear to see them suffering? You were willing to suffer even more, for _their_ sake?” New Kenny wondered. “Why is that?”

It took a long time for Kenny to find the words. It took a long time before he could say them.

“They were good to me,” Kenny finally managed, “And I...I...” he choked again, but New Kenny didn't seem to mind. He waited patiently.

“ **I love them**!” Kenny finally blurted, “I loved them for it! They didn't have any reason to be so good to me, and they still were!”

“Amazing how far a stale donut and a cup of coffee can go, isn't it?” New Kenny asked, “I know.”

“He never had a chance,” Kenny wept, as his doppelganger took his hands. It was a strange sensation, perhaps because it might have been Eternity since Kenny had felt anything.

“Neither did you, so far,” New Kenny reminded him. “Kenny, why are you _here_?” He asked yet again.

“'cause I can't _go_ back!” Kenny cried, thinking about Clyde. He thought about Clyde, and his promise to kill Eric Cartman. He thought about what Clyde had promised Cartman. He thought about Kyle's horrible lie. He thought about what PC Principal might have done to Cartman, once Kenny had left the office.

He thought about Tweek and Craig. Jimmy. Token. Clyde.

“I love Clyde, he's a good boy. Well, a young man, now,” New Kenny nodded, still holding his double's hands, “He's got a good heart.” He paused for a while. “Like yours.”

“I failed,” Kenny repeated, “And I can't even get Craig through this one day. He...he just seems to get worse, each time I resurrect.”

“He misses Tweek,” New Kenny said, “We all do.” As if sensing the next question, he added, “No, Tweek's not here, Kenny.

“Where is he, then?” Kenny asked desperately.

“He's dead,” New Kenny shrugged, “Or he's alive. He's alone, or he's with Craig. He's in Heaven, or he's in Hell. It all depends on Tweek, doesn't it?”

Kenny didn't know what to say.

“You're saying that somewhere, out there?” Kenny gestured around, finally noticing his arms again, “Out there, Tweek's _alive_?”

“So are you,” New Kenny shrugged, “This is just another point along the journey. The road's still there, even if it is behind you.”

“What _is_ this place?” Kenny had to ask.

“I don't know, son. _You_ brought us here,” New Kenny smiled, and in that smile, Kenny felt something change. “Maybe it's just some old point, somewhere, some _when_ , at some forgotten old way station along the road that is the journey we all take.”

“I don't understand,” Kenny sighed, “It's not like I can just throw the car in reverse, like a video driving game, and get a do-over this time.”

“You can't see the forest for the trees, can you?” New Kenny asked, holding out his arms and turning, as if marveling about something. Kenny then noticed his short beard, and the harder set of his kind face. Then New Kenny lowered his left hand.

Upon his palm was a sparkling point of light, blazing in new colors that Kenny had no names for.

Kenny marveled at it, lost in its beauty. Eternity passed, or didn't.

“You've been picking the wrong ones, all this time,” New Kenny told him, and when Kenny tore his eyes away from that one point, the miasma of color all around him nearly shattered his mind. He focused on New Kenny's face again, afraid of going insane from the experience. He blinked, taking in the graying beard, the crow's feet, and the receding hairline. It was hard to tell in the eye of the colored hurricane that swirled about them, but New Kenny's hair seemed so dark, so shot full of gray. “Kenny, what happened? What _really_ happened that brought you here?” He asked, his voice nasal, deeper, almost stuffy.

“I failed.”

“Before that.”

“Craig was hurt.”

“Before that.”

Kenny hesitated.

“Tweek died,” he whispered.

“Before that.”

“I don't know,” Kenny confessed. “All I know is, that I caused it all. Craig's dad bought the Corvette for him?”

“You're close,” New Kenny nodded, and the old man held out his left hand. He placed the shining point of light in Kenny's right hand, and closed the boy's hands around it. “Never let go of it!”

And then he was gone, vanishing into the indescribable explosions of light that threatened to wipe away Kenny's very Consciousness.

Kenny screamed.

The hurricane that was the Void continued to swirl and explode, even though there was no one there to see it.

  
  


 


	7. All in This Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Flashbacks to fluffier times. Kenny finds out what that point of light can really do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleepover at Craig's. Fluff alert. This is a pretty happy chapter, for a change. As for the sleepover, these events are based on one my boy's anxious friends. If you haven't raised kids, warning - twelve year olds, straight or gay, do tend to display affection. I never discouraged it.  
> About the probe that Timmy has in his head - these are real. A friend's son had one for the purposes described. Yes, he looked like a Borg drone.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 7**

**I Was, I Am, I Will Be – All in This Moment**

*

**Sleepover**

*

 

How the mind of New-Young-and-Old-Kenny (or whoever he was) could have dealt with an infinity of those glowing explosions of light, Kenny McCormick had no idea. The one single point of light that he held in his hands, exploding in his face like supernovae, was threatening to overwhelm him.

Images of past, present, and what he thought might be the future, spun wildly before his eyes. The blur was nauseating, and if he had had any idea which way was up, he might have been dizzy. He closed his right hand, so as not to lose the light, and pulled his left hand away.

A thin glowing string, like blazing gossamer, ran between his hands.

“String theory,” Kevin Stoley was arguing with Craig. Kenny could hear the boy's voice as he stared at the string of light, realizing that he was concentrating on a single point. It was overwhelmingly blue, shot through with yellow. “The string starts the instant you're born, and it ends the moment you die.”

“That just sounds like _**Quantum Leap**_ bullshit,” Craig Tucker countered, as Kenny realized that they were sitting in the cafeteria. It wasn't elementary school. It was later. Craig was talking plainly, and he wore no hat. Neither did any of the other boys.

There was no scar on Craig's head – only shiny, black hair combed just so.

And there Kenny himself sat, picking at his meager lunch, just listening. His T-shirt was dirty, and his orange jacket, sans hood, was grungy. So were his ripped jeans.

“What the fuck?” Kenny said to himself, staring at what could only be a younger version of himself. Seventh-or-eighth-grade-Kenny was coming closer and closer to his own face, but that younger Kenny seemed oblivious.

“Aw, hamburgers!” Butters suddenly said, shoving a bunch of white grapes at younger Kenny, and wadding up the paper bag that he'd brought his lunch in, “Again? I _hate_ these sour things!”

Kenny remembered. _That was so Butters!_

Cartman was laughing at one of his own unfunny jokes about poor Kenny was. The others were listening to Craig and Kevin arguing 'sci-fi', and suddenly, Kenny tasted grapes. He felt cloth on his skin. He felt the bench under his rear. He felt food in his stomach.

The grapes weren't sour at all.

He gasped in surprise, nearly choking on a grape, as Butters pounded his back.

_This never happened! I never choked on grapes in junior high!_

“Shit, dude, are they _that_ bad?” Craig wondered, and Kenny looked up to see Craig with a fork in one hand, his other arm down.

And sitting next to him was Tweek!

_Y-your hair is y-yellow..._

The normally jittery boy was still, both eyes open, sipping calmly at his thermos of coffee. Both he and Craig were about half done with their school lunches. It looked like it was near a holiday, as Kenny could see the mini pumpkin pies on the trays. He knew where Craig's other hand was.

It would be holding Tweek's other hand, resting on their touching legs, they sat so close.

_Tweek's dead. Or he's alive. It depends on Tweek..._

_I nearly got sick on these damn pies, no one liked them!_ Kenny remembered, having stuffed his backpack with unwanted pies to take home. Cartman had laughed so hard that he'd shot soda out his nose.

“Th-thanks, Butters!” Kenny choked, the shock of re-embodiment quickly passing. Sure enough, several of the little pumpkin pies were shoved in front of him, along with many looks of disgust.

“Kenny, are you OK?” Tweek asked, and Kenny suddenly felt as if it wouldn't have sounded any sweeter, if he'd been in Heaven again with a choir of angels welcoming him. After about the tenth time, that had sort of gotten old, too. But he could have sworn that he could literally feel the reverberations of Tweek's unbroken voice washing over him. He couldn't believe he was hearing it again.

The emotion was overwhelming. He put his head down.

“I know, the holidays can be rough,” Clyde was telling him, patting his back, “I miss my mom,” he sniffled, “Sometimes!”

“CLYDE!” Cartman was mocking him, “You come home right now and put the toilet seat down!”

“I said 'sometimes', Fat Ass!” Clyde countered, as Kenny recalled those last few years of youth league sports, combined with puberty, already having been very kind to Clyde by that point in time. Not only was Clyde firmer, taller, but he was already at the “dirty upper lip” phase of life. Kenny couldn't help but wonder, given what he'd seen in the showers, if Bebe approved? Surely she did?

“What if,” Kenny felt compelled to say, “All those strings cross in one, and only one, focal point? Where strings from all other quantum realities converge, maybe even outside the Space-Time Continuum?”

Craig and Kevin both gaped at him.

“A single point, where the spiral of Time goes flat?” Kenny added.

“Damn!” Stan snickered, “Kenny just left them both at a loss for words!”

“When did you get so smart, Kenny?” Kyle wondered, and Kenny noted the shorter hair and the polo shirt.

“I...I just never figured it'd do any good to try harder,” Kenny shrugged, continuing to eat the grapes, “What's the point?”

“Because you can do whatever you want to, Kenny,” Tweek told him, yawning. Kenny remembered that Tweek always got a bit drowsy after lunch. He'd sneak a twenty minute power nap somewhere, and be fine for the rest of the day. Probably in some corner of the library, with Craig watching over him. Kenny remembered how both boys had started to change, not long after they'd gotten together.

 _I think it was around the time of the attack on Canada, or just before that, when they realized that they weren't just pretending, for the sake of the town,_ Kenny recalled, _Around the time when it was a big deal to be playing Superheroes all the time. What did they call it? The Eros Eruption? Eros Attack?_

“Kenny? Doing whatever he wanted?” Cartman laughed.

“And what are you gonna do with your life, Fat Ass?” Kenny asked him bluntly, “Be a food critic? You'll be dead of diabetes, or a heart attack, by the time you're twenty-three!”

“He's got a point,” Scott Malkinson put in, from the far end of the long table, where he sat with Lisa Burger. Kenny remembered Scott's surgery, and how his voice had so changed afterwards, once they'd freed up his tongue. He noted the new insulin pump clipped to Scott's belt.

“Oh, that is just so wrong,” Cartman sighed.

“Why? Because Heidi dumped you?” Kyle asked point blank, “That Scott has a girlfriend, and you don't?”

“Well at least I _had_ a girlfriend, Kahl!” Cartman retorted, “At least I've kissed a girl! You, you act like a...whadda'ya call it? When you're not interested?”

“Asexual,” Stan answered.

“I just don't see the point of it,” Kyle replied, somewhat haughtily.

“Glad _you're_ not!” Wendy said to Stan, as she and the girls had been conspiring about something, it seemed, at the opposite table. She kissed his cheek.

Tweek's head was bobbling a bit. Craig kissed his cheek, just a peck.

“Do you HAVE to do that?” Cartman blurted, “People are trying to eat here!”

Tweek and Craig both glared at him, then kissed again. “C'mon, Babe, someone got up on the wrong side of a relationship – about two years ago!”

“AY!” Cartman snapped, his face red.

“Does it bother you if I kiss Stan?” Wendy asked, as they did.

“Only if he pukes on your tits,” Cartman snorted, going back to his enormous lunch.

“I haven't puked on Wendy in three years or so!” Stan snapped.

“Now that's a sign of true love,” Clyde smiled, as he got up to leave with Bebe.

“I...I prefer h-hoo-hookers myself!” Jimmy added, “They l-leave when y-you're duh-huuuuune!”

Kenny suddenly recalled Chef's little song about prostitutes from the third grade. He smiled.

“TIMMY!” Timmy added, getting a few pecks on the cheek from many of the girls, who thought he was just the sweetest thing. He also had some sort of device sticking out of his forehead, like a probe of some sort.

“Borg-Timmy!” Kevin laughed.

“Timmy,” Timmy agreed coolly.

“Pretty much,” Craig reminded him, “It's a wireless probe to monitor cranial pressure for his new stent.”

“I think I'm the one who's gonna puke – c'mere', Wendy!” Cartman laughed, as the others just rolled their eyes. “You know, I don't think Timmy's as bad off as he lets on!”

“I...I...livin' a lie!” Timmy whispered, rolling past Kenny, “An' I...not!”

Kenny just took it all in. He ate. He packed his backpack with unwanted food, not caring what others thought. He knew that his friends understood. He took his trash to the can, looking around the room. “I'm really here!” He exulted, “This is seventh grade, I think! This is plenty far enough back!” He felt as if he might burst. “That damn car won't be ready to drive for another year or two, and Craig won't be sixteen until...oh, who cares? He's not! The car doesn't even run! I DID IT!”

Then he realized that the car was, at that moment, sitting in Craig's garage. If he recalled correctly, it already had been for about a year or two. If this was seventh grade, Craig could be almost thirteen, and he and his dad had been slowly piddling around with the 'project' for that time. That gave him three years to prevent the accident. He tried to remember if he'd been nine or ten when he'd gone into foster care with the Weatherheads. It didn't matter, though.

 _It's far enough!_ Kenny realized, suddenly remembering that Craig hadn't even started the engine until he'd been fourteen, or very close to it. After all, they'd pulled the motor out to rebuild it. He'd been Mysterion then, sitting on the roof, about to strike down Thomas Tucker in the event that he became violent with Craig for starting the car without him. But Thomas had been delighted. They'd driven the ungodly loud Corvette to Tweek's house in the middle of the night, and the boys had stayed up all night putting the new stereo in it.

_...hold my hand, I want you to hold my hand..._

Kenny smiled. For the first time in a long time, he felt good.

Then he remembered something else. Actually, it was The Other that reminded him.

“If this is seventh grade, then Timmy's going to die before spring break,” Mysterion's voice reminded him, “The cranial pressure probe, remember?”

“The shunt!” Kenny remembered, “That drains fluid out of his head! Timmy had an artery running in the wrong spot, and they sliced it when they changed the shunt! He died on the table!”

Kenny tracked down Kyle, who was on his way to his usual hangout – the front steps, where he'd just sit and gaze off into the distance. Kenny didn't think his friend had ever gotten over inadvertently getting over a million Canadians nuked, but he was only concerned with a couple of other people just then. He asked Kyle to ask his dad about the legal stuff, carefully explaining what he thought about Timmy.

“But how can you know that?” Kyle wondered, “Timmy seems fine? They've got his head size down, he's talking better, and he seems to be getting stronger with all the PT?”

“I can't explain it,” Kenny replied, “Just humor me, OK? Get your dad to call someone, and have them do a better scan of Timmy's head before they operate. Trust me.” He paused. “And Kyle?” Kyle looked back at him. “Ike won't be like this forever.” He put his hand on Kyle's shoulder. “He'll come around.”

“I hope so,” Kyle sighed. “I love him, Kenny, but the last couple years, I think he just tolerates me.”

“Mysterion knows these things, you know,” Kenny smiled, “He knows all, he sees all!”

“He needs to see a shrink!” Kyle laughed.

 _Oh, you don't know the half of it!_ Kenny thought.

*

The day passed without incident. Classes were so wonderfully boring, and Kenny actually participated, startling his teachers. The bus ride home was just like he remembered it. He couldn't remember the driver's name, but he even missed Veronica Crabtree. The way she'd yelled at them, once so terrifying, had been so entertaining later on.

When he got home, he shared his food with Karen, just the two of them, hiding out back in the 'palace' where Princess Kenny had once reigned supreme.

“Mom, Dad, and Kevin can take care of themselves,” Kenny told her.

“Don't you have to work tonight?” Karen wondered.

Kenny reached for his phone, amazed at the old thing. He called Mr Lu Kim, claiming to have lost his schedule. Five dollars a night and all the throwaway food he could carry was enough for Kenny. And Mr Lu Kim was taking no more chances, after having been sued for poisoning someone with two day old egg rolls!

“Yes, I see you at five, Dennis!” Lu Kim told him, and Kenny had to laugh at the name being wrong.

 _This is perfect!_ Kenny thought, hoping that nothing would go wrong.

*

A few years into the future, in the cemetery just outside town, a small and simple tombstone wavered, as if it were nothing more than a heat mirage. The inscription became blurry, and just before the entire stone vanished, it read:

TIMOTHY S. BURCH  
2003 – 2016

Green grass sprinkled with purple violets replaced it, as the plot of land sat undisturbed.

A few plots over, another tombstone still stood. It was fairly new, carved in white marble, in the shape of an angel. Far from the warrior angels of video games, or the ones that Kenny would have remembered from his brief sojourn in Heaven while commanding their armies, this angel resembled a young boy. His hands covered his face, and his wings were folded. A crooked halo rested on his head of messy hair, and his posture was clearly one of grief. Pain set in stone, for all eternity. Beneath the name and date of the boy that the weeping angel guarded, beneath the dates set sixteen years apart, read the inscription:

AND THE ANGELS WEPT

Sitting on the concrete base plate of the elaborate grave marker were two small Matchbox cars – one black, and one red. They sat, waiting in the warm spring sunshine, as if waiting for a little boy, perhaps two, to come and play with them.

And they sat, waiting.

Just like their counterparts in separate garages.

*

Later that night, with his backpack filled with enough food for he and Karen for two nights, Kenny's phone rang. He laughed at the old Terrance and Phillip ringtone, and saw that it was Craig. He stopped his cobbled-together and somewhat rickety bike near a bus stop to talk.

“Hello?”

“Dude, did you forget?”

“I had to work. Forget what, Craig?” Kenny wondered, and why Craig was even calling him. It wasn't as if they were that close.

“We were going to start working on your bike tonight, ya fuckin' Alzheimer's patient!” Craig's warbling, alto voice replied, realizing that he and Craig were now about how old Karen was. The Karen he'd left behind, that was...

“Yeah, I'm sorry, Dude,” Kenny apologized.

“Well, bring it over, if you want to. I'll be out here trying to teach Tweek how to turn a wrench, with Red Racer!” Craig said, ending the call.

Kenny felt a chill. He looked up and down the street, but the traffic was light. After all, he'd just survived a lightning strike in tandem with a gunshot to the head, and a seemingly eternal drift in some type of magical void. Even if he did get run over, he knew he'd just come back.

Kenny skidded to a stop on the sidewalk.

“What if I get killed here? Now?” He wondered aloud.

He looked at his hand.

The point of light was still there, little more than pinprick, but still blazing if he focused on it. With that in mind, he set off for Craig's house.

*

“ARGH! Craig, I'm no good at this!” Tweek exclaimed, having just upended a rotted lower radiator hose he'd just detached, drenching himself in ancient antifreeze.

“This is bad,” Craig mused.

“I know! NRGH! Look at ME!” Tweek gasped.

Craig tossed him a shop rag. “Just don't get it in your mouth, Babe,” Craig advised, “These hoses ain't cheap!”

“T-time to call Grandma?” Tweek suggested.

“She said the new tool set just shot the next ten birthdays,” Craig sighed, looking sad. “We'll never get this poor old thing going. 1977 was just too long ago.”

Tweek wiped his hands, his shivering lessening. He puts his hands on Craig's shoulders. “No job is too big for Super-Craig!”

Craig smiled, the overhead lights reflecting off of his new braces. He hadn't lost all of his back baby teeth yet, but the permanent ones that he had, as Cartman had once said, were “fucked up.” He was probably going to have braces until the day he graduated high school. He turned to face Tweek. For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other. Craig had to laugh at the shorter boy, his blond hair soaked in old antifreeze and his shirt damp.

“Tweek, I have to tell you something,” Craig said softly. He fidgeted a bit. “Mom only buys decaff coffee.”

“I can tell!” Tweek made a face, “B-but I...I didn't want to -nrgh- say anything!”

“You don't twitch and shiver as much when you're here, you know,” Craig reminded him, grabbing a clean shop rag to try and dry Tweek's hair. “I like the smell of antifreeze; it smells sweet.”

Tweek's face went pink. He took Craig's hands in his. He felt like he'd been holding those hands for years. In fact, with only the short breakup where they'd had a custody battle over Stripe #4, they had been doing just that. Craig leaned his head down. His lips parted.

“Craig, you in there?” Kenny yelled.

“ARGH!” Tweek squealed, jumping back and nearly knocking over the tall, red, rolling toolbox.

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry!” Kenny exclaimed, quickly turning around. For some reason, all three boys found it suddenly hilarious. Kenny found himself almost lost in the sound of Tweek's laughter.

“Uhm, Kenny?” Craig reminded him, “Tweek's already taken.”

“Huh?” Kenny mumbled, suddenly embarrassed.

“I know, I'm – gahh – a mess!” Tweek apologized, “Craig didn't tell me those hoses had shit-water in them!”

Kenny's gaze moved over the old Corvette, the red paint faded to pink in some spots. There were plenty of scratches, and the shabby and nearly bald tires looked lucky to be holding air. One good pothole, and they'd surely blow. The hood had been removed, carefully wrapped in an old blanket and standing in the corner. The engine was about halfway torn down. The interior looked terrible. _He won't get the seats redone until he's fourteen,_ Kenny recalled.

Then the vision took him.

Red Racer was nearly destroyed. It was almost as if he were standing in the high school garage again, parts scattered all over, with the smell of Death all around him. Suddenly, his stomach pitched. He fought down the urge to vomit. Food was too hard to come by to waste it, after all, and he was already dangerously thin. _Idiot, you're twelve again! You've got plenty of food from City Wok and Tweek's shoppe!_ Kenny clenched his eyes shut, but Craig's garage had been replaced by that fateful stretch of Route 285.

A pale, bloodstained hand was reaching out of the grass in the ditch, reaching, as if pleading...

“Kenny?” Craig's voice seemed to say, carried on the cold wind.

“Kenny?” Tweek asked, his voice shrill.

The vision cleared. Two boys in dirty shop clothes stood looking at him, and Craig was shaking him.

“S-sorry, I think the General's leftover chicken didn't sit well,” Kenny lied, although still somewhat amazed that he was even there. He was beginning to fear that at any moment, he'd wake up back in his bed again, and have to face that horrible day yet again.

He wasn't sure if he could take another day of seeing the boy in the yellow poofball hat stumbling into school for his first day back.

He wondered how many times he'd have to kill himself, before God, Fate, Other-Kenny, Cthulhu, or Whoever the fuck was responsible for his resurrections finally gave up on him and just let him stay dead.

But Craig wasn't wearing a hat now.

Craig Tucker was only twelve years old.

“Sit down,” Craig advised, “I've got Sprite?”

“Thanks,” Kenny sighed, as Craig went into the house.

Tweek watched him go, and Kenny could almost literally see the love in the smaller boy's eyes. He could also see the rising anxiety. Tweek was starting to shiver again, as soon as Craig was out of visual range. Kenny flopped in an old lawn chair. He sniffled.

“What?” Tweek squeaked.

“You and him,” Kenny replied softly.

“Whadda'ya mean?” Tweek blushed.

“Sorry,” Kenny apologized, “It's just that, when you look at him, it's like...”

“Yeah,” Tweek sighed dreamily. “Kenny, can I tell you something?”

“Sure?”

“I was never pretending with Craig.”

“I know. I could tell. I think a lot of people could,” Kenny told him, remembering the coming conversation the first time they'd had it, “I'm sorry I walked in on you.”

“ARGH! Kenny! What if he wants to kiss me? I mean, really KISS ME? What'll I do!?”

“Why ask me, Tweek?”

“B-because you know everything!” Tweek exclaimed.

“I do?”

“YES!”

“You got a stuffed animal with an open mouth? Not flat, I mean?” Kenny asked.

“Y-yes?”

“Then practice on that.” Kenny advised him.

“NRGH! Are you SERIOUS?!” Tweek seemed horrified.

“Trust me, it'll work.”

“You want me to – AIGH! - French kiss my teddy bear?!” Tweek looked faint.

“Well, it'd piss Craig off if you kissed me!”

“Yes, it would!” Craig declared, as he returned with a Sprite for Kenny, a caffeine-free Coke for himself, and a steaming mug of coffee for Tweek. “So what's this about kissing you?”

“Tweek was just saying he was so happy,” Kenny managed to summon up some embarrassment, “That the car, I mean, me telling you it was there in the Weatherheads' barn, and how happy it made you, is all, he was like, 'I could kiss you, for making Craig that happy'.” Kenny lied smoothly. He also thought that it was the first time that he'd seen Craig Tucker blush that deeply. 'Smiling-Craig', was after all, something of a novelty.

“Well, uh, we should...” Craig cleared his throat. Tweek was clearly enjoying the scene. “Look! It's almost nine-thirty. It's too late to get to work, but if you leave the bike here, we could start Saturday?” Craig pointed at his collection of spare bike parts, “I'm sure between what you've got, and my stash, we can build a decent bike out of this stuff!”

Kenny wasn't expecting the emotion that hit him next. Of course, Craig didn't know. There was no way he could know. Craig couldn't know that he was rewarding Kenny for finding the instrument of his boyfriend's death, and Craig's own future maiming.

 _I should set this damn car on fire_ , Kenny thought.

“Look, Kenny, I didn't mean -” Craig began.

“No, I'm just beat is all,” Kenny sighed, “And I still have homework,” _Which will take me about ten minutes to do,_ he thought. He finished his Sprite and burped. The boys laughed. “And it's a school night.”

“Yes, it is,” Thomas Tucker said, coming in the door, “You boys about done here?” He smiled. Then he saw Kenny. His eyes narrowed. “Are you OK?”

“No, sir,” Kenny replied, and it was the truth. His stomach was rolling, and his head was spinning. His chest was tight, and he was having trouble breathing.

“Anxiety,” Tweek diagnosed, fetching a paper bag for Kenny. Tweek knew just what to do. “Try and find your center, and go to your happy place,” Tweek advised.

 _You're both alive, right here, right now,_ Kenny thought, “I'll be OK,” He gasped.

“Wouldn't do any good to call your folks, would it?” Thomas asked.

“No, sir,” Kenny replied, “It's _**White Trash in Trouble**_ night on TV, so they'll be going at it.”

“Why don't you come in?” Thomas asked, noticing how filthy Tweek was compared to Craig, “Wash up, and have another Sprite?”

“I...I shouldn't, sir, I...”

“I'm not asking,” Thomas pointed at the door. Tweek and Craig closed up the garage as Thomas escorted Kenny in. “The bathroom is upstairs, follow your nose for roses, to the left,” He glanced at his wife, who nodded. “You smell like an egg roll!” Thomas joked, as Tweek and Craig came in. Laura was on the phone.

“Helen? Hello! No, Tweek's already fallen asleep in front of the TV,” She lied smoothly, “Let's just leave him, shall we? He can ride the bus from here. Yes, thanks! That'd be great!” She hung up.

Kenny went upstairs. He could still make out Thomas telling the boys what was going on.

“After Kenny gets done, you two clean up. SEPARATELY! Finish up any homework, and I want you in bed by ten-thirty! And no funny business! If I hear any chatter after lights-out, I'll beat both of your asses!”

“AIGH!” Tweek yelped.

“He's kidding,” Craig assured him.

Once in the shower, Kenny lost it. He just stood there, enjoying the hot water, and sobbed. He kept his eyes closed, hoping that no visions would come back.

Hoping that he'd still be there when he opened his eyes.

Hoping that he'd still be 'then' when he awoke in the morning.

“I killed them,” Kenny sobbed, “They're so good to me, and I killed them!”

“Hey, save me some hot water, will ya!” Craig knocked on the door. Kenny finished up quickly, but when he got out, he saw that his clothes were gone. There was a pair of Red Racer boxer shorts and an outer space-printed robe waiting for him. He glanced in the long mirror on the back of the door and nearly panicked.

“Holy shit, I AM twelve again! I guess I'm staying, too,” Kenny finally smiled. He put the robe on and opened the door. “Y-you're...uhm?” Kenny fumbled, remembering that they were only twelve, after all.

“Dad knows, and we'll run outta hot water if we don't!” Craig smiled.

“Oh, God!” Tweek fretted, “Don't tell anyone!”

“You take a shower with everyone, every day after gym class?” Kenny reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, we do, don't we?” Tweek grinned.

His face flaming for some reason, Kenny just went downstairs and started his homework.

*

When they were done, they finished their homework. Laura had made brownies, and Kenny noted that Tweek downed one small pill with his milk, as did Craig. Tweek looked adorable, Kenny thought, in an old, faded set of Craig's guinea-pig printed pajamas. Craig's were newer, and printed in stars and planets and such.

“I don't normally approve of sleep-overs on school nights, but like I said,” Thomas warned them again, “I've got the camp bed set up in Craig's room for you, Kenny. You can sleep a bit later, Laura will take you all to school in the morning. And NO talking!”

Goodnights were said, and the boys went upstairs. The Tuckers treated Tweek no differently than they did their own son, but Kenny was decidedly uncomfortable. Thomas patted his back and mussed his hair, but Laura hugged him.

 _It's fine, you're twelve, and she's being a mom!_ Kenny told himself.

He didn't hear what Mrs Tucker had to say to her husband, about what she thought of Kenny's parents.

 _This is different, I never spent a night here with them,_ Kenny realized, as he got into the camp bed. It felt better than his own saggy bed at home, and Craig had loaned him his sleeping bag. He watched as Craig checked on Stripe the guinea pig, while Tweek sat on the edge of Craig's bed, his head lolling. Craig came over and literally had to put him to bed. Kenny noted the stuffed animals. He watched how carefully Craig tucked Tweek in, smoothing his hair back, making sure that Tweek was in the corner, protected on all sides.

“Mom slipped him an Ativan,” Craig whispered, “Why his folks don't get him some, I dunno.” He sighed. “Tweek says the only time he sleeps all night is when he's here, or I'm there. Oh, and mine was Tylenol, for the pain from the braces,” He then got into bed, and switched the last little lamp off. “Goodnight, Tweek.”

Kenny could hear the sound of a soft kiss.

“Craig?” Tweek whimpered.

“Go to sleep, Babe.”

“'night, guys,” Kenny said softly.

Tweek whimpered again. He could hear Craig's bed shift, and Craig softly whispering to Tweek, “It's OK, Babe, I've got you.”

“'night, Kenny,” Craig whispered back.

“Craig?” Kenny whispered, unsure if Craig would hear him. He imagined Craig holding Tweek closely, protectively, until Craig was sure that Tweek was asleep. He heard that small sound again.

“Yeah, Kenny?”

“Thank you,” Kenny yawned, laying there, just listening.

He could hear Stripe making scuffling and munching sounds in the dim light of the glow-in-the-dark ceiling decorations. He could hear the Tuckers' soft footsteps as they turned in. He could hear Tweek's slow, even breathing, indicating that he was sound asleep.

Moments later, and he could hear Craig's soft snores.

 _Please, please, let me stay here!_ Kenny begged, unsure of Who was listening, if Anyone was. Kenny looked at his hand, but the dazzling point of light was dimmer. It was fading.

That gave him hope.

He listened.

The Tucker home was so quiet.

He watched Stripe in the dim light, until even the guinea pig went into his little house and to bed.

Stripe made funny little squeaks as he slept.

*

In the morning, Kenny awoke with a start. It wasn't a Resurrection Morning start, though, and that gave him hope.

He looked up to see Craig sitting in his computer chair, barefoot, and still in his pajamas. He was holding Stripe, just sitting there, watching Tweek sleep. Sunlight was just creeping through the cracks in the curtains, falling across Tweek's mop of blond hair, making it almost glow.

Kenny didn't move.

“He's so perfect,” Craig sighed, so low that it was hardly audible, "I love him, you know."

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Kenny felt hope.

 


	8. Mysterion Rises - Again!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Life goes on for the boys, including Immortal Beloved Kenny, who has managed to slide back along the String of his life to an earlier time. The only problem is being a world-weary, almost-seventeen year old in a just-turned-twelve body! Well, that, and avoiding being killed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings: Slight fluff. Sappy descriptions. Friendly rats. Bad memories. Some Mysterion-induced violence/gore, mild. Professor Chaos! A little bit of 'Bunny'. Child abuse mentioned. Minor drug addiction mentioned. Overall theme is the prevention of Tweek's later death. Some homosexual, underage, rated PG-13 romance. No sex scenes. Arousal mentioned. Butters is worried that he might get an erection and embarrass himself.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 8**

**Mysterion Rises – Again!**

Kenny McCormick was not used to having breakfast. At least, not a real breakfast. If he worked from 5-9 for Mr Lu Kim the evening before, he would have leftover, cold Chinese takeout, as would Karen. He really didn't care what Kevin and his parents were having. He remembered that by junior high, PC Principal and Strong Woman had been lobbying for a free breakfast and lunch program in the Park County School Corporation. Still, Kenny's own choice of toast, eggs, meat, and drink was something he wasn't sure how to deal with.

He also wasn't sure how to deal with the sight of Tweek and Craig (again, all of twelve years old, even if Tweek didn't look it) sitting there, side by side, looking like identically dressed brothers in blue jackets and jeans. Even the same make of shoes. The only difference, other than their hair color, were the T-shirts. Tweek's was white with a screen-printed guinea pig, while Craig's was of a red sports car and it's Anime character driver. Kenny felt a bit embarrassed, wearing the laundered clothes that he'd worked in the night before. If he recalled correctly, Karen would be in need of breakfast that morning.

“Can w-we stop by the shoppe, on the way to school, Mrs Tucker?” Tweek asked, “Please?”

“Certainly,” Craig's mom answered, and Kenny couldn't help but think of the notorious drone incident, and her “magical bush”. He tried to put it out of his mind. He also tried to not think about the fact that he was, again, just hitting that awkward stage of puberty kicking in full throttle. Still, he knew what Tweek was up to: he wanted real coffee and pastry. And there would be an extra one in Kenny's bag. For Karen. Kenny imagined that were their roles reversed, that Craig would be doing the same if Tricia were Tweek's little sister. She seemed to adore her brother's boyfriend, which made Tweek even more nervous than he already was. Still, he did look a bit droopy that morning as he speared a sausage on his fork and politely drank the decaffeinated coffee.

“What, I like sausages?” Tweek offered. Craig snickered. Kenny still found it hard to get used to, seeing him without that yellow poofball chullo hat.

Kenny ate his food, finding that he was actually hungry. He tried to not think of Karen waiting for whatever Tweek would sneak out for her, worried that he hadn't come home again.

Getting into the car, Kenny took the shotgun seat, so that Tweek and Craig could sit together in the back seat.

When they arrived at the coffee shoppe, the morning crowd had just cleared out. The display cases were wrecked, but Tweek grabbed up four leftover donuts, and a smaller multi-grain bagel with a packet of cream cheese, also for Karen. He 'checked in', as it were, and Kenny cringed as his parents took a photo of him and Craig.

“They're going to post that on Facebook,” Tweek cringed.

“Don't they just look like the Bobbsey Twins?” Richard Tweak asked.

“Who?” Laura Tucker wondered.

“Now if Craig would like to come over this weekend, that would be just darling!” Helen Tweak offered.

“I don't know what's worse, the yaoi art, or their Facebook photos,” Tweek complained, as they got back in the car.

When they stopped, Craig's mom smiled. “Silly me! Old habits. I've pulled into the elementary school lot!”

“That's OK, I need to see Karen, Ma'am?” Kenny spoke up, realizing what she'd done. He smiled.

“I thought you might, Kenny,” Laura replied.

Kenny sighed. It hadn't been long after their famous Black Friday adventure, when he'd been playing the role of Princess Kenny, that Kenny's friends (and just about every other kid in town) had realized just how bad Kenny had it. And while Cartman was usually the only one crass enough to comment on it, it still embarrassed Kenny. Being home in South Park, though, was still preferable to the living with the Weatherheads in Greeley.

As Karen thanked him for breakfast, hugging him and asking where he'd been all night, Kenny felt the heartbreak of it all over again. It had been bad living through it the first time, but reliving it was infinitely worse. He decided that his parents were due for another visit from Mysterion in the very near future, and that the Timeline was going to get more than one change when he was done.

When they arrived at the Jr./Sr. High School, Kenny was surprised to see Craig get out first and open the car door for Tweek. Backpacks were adjusted, Craig kissed his mom goodbye, and then took Tweek's hand. Kenny remembered that he would not let go of it, except for loading and unloading at their shared locker. Fortunately, their classes were divided in to 7A, B and C. All three boys were in 7B, so they'd be together all day long. Kenny found himself hoping that they'd get to play dodge-ball in gym.

He also remembered how they always sat, with Tweek right behind Craig.

He remembered the awful roll call from Craig's first day back at high school, somewhere back in that future he'd left behind. Ahead. Whatever.

“ _Th-that's not ever-ree-one, is it?” Craig asked, looking all around the room, his gaze lingering uncomfortably on his old friends._

Kenny had to wonder if that future still existed. He hoped that it didn't. He even dared hope that Future-Craig would not regain his memory of Tweek. He wondered if Time were still moving 'up' there, if anyone were mourning his death.

He wondered who had screamed his name in the locker room, before the air bubble in Scott's insulin had killed him.

And how he dearly wished that he could forget all of those failed attempts to stop the accident with the semi truck on 285.

“C'mon, Babe, we're just about late to English,” Craig was telling Tweek, “We don't wanna get...”

“No, you don't wanna,” Kenny whispered to himself.

“You spent the night at Craig's, with Tweek too?” Cartman asked in an oily tone, jolting Kenny out of his reverie.

“As if it's any of your business,” Kenny replied, “Which it isn't!”

“Kenny?” Stan wondered, “What happened to you? The last couple'a days, you don't even talk the same?”

“And this newfound academic performance?” Kyle added, nodding happily.

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Yes, Daddy Kyle, that too!”

“Yes, _we_ have dads,” Kyle reminded him.

“AY!”

Kenny had to smile. Kyle knew where all the nerves were with Cartman, and Kyle never failed to hit one. Still, Cartman was almost as good. The bickering was just as he remembered it.

“So did they, like, have sex?” Cartman asked, a bit too enthusiastically, Kenny thought. He felt nauseated. “Whoa! Did you have a three-way?”

“You are a SICK bitch, Cartman,” Kyle sighed in disgust.

“No, they worked on tearing down the Corvette, we had a snack, we're going to work on bikes this Saturday, and then we cleaned up, did homework, had a snack, and went to bed. Happy?” Kenny growled the last bit out.

“So, do they sleep together?” Cartman asked anxiously.

“Well, Craig has a camp bed set up, and as I was on the couch, I think not,” Kenny lied.

“'I think not'?” Stan wondered.

“Why are _you_ so interested, you sick fuck?” Kyle asked again, as they headed off to English class as well.

“Because it's just so kewwwwwl,” Cartman drawled, “Aren't you even a little curious, Kahl?”

“NO!” Kyle snapped, “It's none of my business! _Or_ yours!”

“Hey, fellas!” Butters greeted them, as they all made it to class just in time. Butters was right in front of Craig. Kenny couldn't remember if Wendy were in 7A or the other, as she wasn't there. Stan didn't seem to mind, though, as he'd not even mentioned her that morning. Still, everyone seemed to be distracted by the idea of Christmas break coming up, which caught Kenny by surprise.

 _That explains the better lunches,_ he thought, quickly checking his phone, and having totally not realized how close the holiday break was. And how had he not noticed the decorations? _Because you weren't looking, or interested_ , he reminded himself. Then again, had the Tuckers put up a Christmas tree yet? Kenny didn't remember it, but it might have been unlit and over the dark corner of the family room, where he hadn't gone.

“So, anyone got their Secret Santa presents yet? Uh, boy! I am sure am wonderin' who got my name!” Butters was almost bubbling.

Cartman sighed. “Tweek and Craig will get each other's names, so will Kyle and Stan, just like always, and I'll probably get stuck with Kinny again!”

“Fuck you, Fat Ass!” Kenny exclaimed, just as the bell rang and the teacher walked in. Kenny remembered Mrs Johnson, often the brunt of “Oh, long Johnson!” YouTube cat jokes. Kenny tried to remember who had come up with the ridiculous Secret Santa idea, and realized that it had been their homeroom teacher. Then he remembered who his partner was, glancing up to the front of the room.

“The hell do I get Token?” Kenny wondered.

“Now, let's review!” Mrs Johnson was saying, “Who can tell me about gerunds? Hint – verbs?”

Kenny raised his hand, and everyone turned to gape at him.

*

The remainder of the week went by without major incident. Kenny encountered one close call, but thanks to one of his more recent deaths, he knew not to walk between idling school buses. Sure enough, the parking brake on one popped out and the bus rolled, bumping the one in front of it. “Cheated your ass that time!” Kenny muttered, thinking of Death.

As it turned out, Kenny found that he'd landed at the beginning of December, or as Kevin Stoley would have called it, “leaped into himself,” like Dr Sam Beckett of that TV show about time travel. The pumpkin pies, he'd found, were Thanksgiving break leftovers that only he seemed to like. Even Cartman refused to eat them, which was saying something!

Kenny spent the school week mostly at home, finding that he worked two short evenings a week, and six hours on Saturday and Sunday. Mr Lu Kim, it seemed, was still proud of his child labor force. And while they actually worked, Mr Lu Kim was not unkind.

“I like you lots, Dennis,” he'd tell him, usually butchering half the words, “You work for food and little money!”

Still, evenings at home were not pleasant. Kenny wasn't surprised by this at all, and he kept an eye out for things like lithium batteries, WD40, coffee filters (they didn't have a coffee maker), and Sudafed. Those and other meth-making ingredients. He continued his routine of providing for himself and Karen, and Kevin was hardly ever there. More and more, he wasn't coming home at night and skipping a lot of school. Kenny remembered that he'd done some time in Juvenile Hall, and that he was going to be arrested shortly before turning 18. He'd be charged as an adult for attempted armed robbery, and that would be it for Kevin for fifteen years and $750k in fines later. Kenny wondered if he should try and do anything to change that. He didn't know, honestly, if Kevin would even listen to him.

The conflict with his father came on his second night 'back'.

“So, how long have you been working at City Wok?” Stuart demanded to know, having downed his sixth gluten free Pabst Blue Ribbon.

“You just now noticed?” Kenny wondered, “Remember when they built Sodosopa? Then.”

“So where's the damn money?” Stuart demanded.

“I'm not giving it to you,” Kenny said bluntly, which made both his mother and sister gasp.

“How much are you making?” Stuart pressed the issue.

“Not enough!” Kenny retorted, “But enough to keep me and Karen in clean clothes, and fed!”

“You ungrateful little _shit_!” Stuart gasped.

“Grateful for _what_? That you take all of mom's dish washing money from Olive Garden, and blow it on beer and weed?” Kenny confronted him, “Grateful for having no heat, rats, hardly any food, having to raise ourselves?”

“Now you sound like my fuckin' dad,” Stuart scoffed, “When did you grow up?”

“A long time ago!” Kenny retorted, the full sixteen years of his frustration with what had been his life so far (or not so far, he wasn't sure) coming to the surface. “Someone has to raise us! Might as well be someone sober who isn't afraid of work!”

“Fuck YOU, you little smartass! Call me when you get some hair on your balls!””

“Anytime, asshole!” Kenny challenged him, hoping that his twelve year old body was up to the challenge. He'd knocked his father down more than once, but that had been when he was older, and that future probably didn't exist now. That, and Stuart had been roaring drunk.

Then his mother jumped into the fight, and as usual, the children were forgotten. It was a relief. Kenny took a sobbing Karen to his room and locked the door, pulling his night stand over in front of it as well. He thought of his Mysterion costume, his gun, and other assorted gadgets hidden under the floor of the closet.

 _Kill him and be done with it_! The Other suggested, having been so quiet thus far.

“No,” Kenny mused, “But I think it's time he learned a lesson! I should have done this a long time ago! Or should do it, later, or what the hell ever!” Kenny confused himself, thinking about the time element.

“Who?” Karen wondered, as Kenny reheated some leftover Chinese food in the old microwave he'd salvaged from work. Mr Lu Kim had tossed it, as it always ran nonstop with the door closed. Then the rats began showing up.

Kenny had learned long ago that in order to exist with the rats, then one had to make peace with them. In fact, he'd made pets of the braver ones, who had, in turn, run off the other rats. He'd even named them after the dragons in _**Game of Thrones**_. There were Drogon, Rhaegal, Viserion, and a few others. Kenny had found that if he fed them regularly, they made great pets. Personally, he didn't see too much difference between rats and guinea pigs, although it was challenging to bathe his pets. Karen found them entertaining, though, so it was worth it. It was the usual evening at home for them: Chinese food with the rats, videos on Kenny's phone, homework, and then to bed.

*

It was The Other that awoke him around three in the morning. The compulsion was overpowering, and Kenny rose, became Mysterion, and armed himself to head out into the night.

Dropping out of his window, the young Superhero was nearly invisible in the night. He'd updated his costume after the days of near constant play in that role, when almost all of the others had given it up. Mysterion was now deeper purple, the white briefs replaced with black. The green question marks remained, but the one on his chest was now larger, more ragged looking, and ominous. His boots and gloves were black, the boots with thick treads, and his utility belt contained more than it ever had before. His cowl was darker as well, the eye-holes whited out by one-way material that he'd heisted from the science lab at school.

Kenny wasn't proud of it, but he'd stolen what he'd needed, back then. Jimbo would never miss two small grappling hooks, after all. He checked the small compressed gas canisters, one on each wrist. He'd only get to use each one only once, so he used them as a last resort to fire the hook and line for climbing. While he still had fireworks, he was also packing larger explosives. One night with the Star Trek geeks had gotten him the recipe for C4 plastique explosive, and Mysterion wasn't afraid to use it. He'd also spent time making what he liked to call 'Mysterangs', although the sharpened metal question marks tended to not come back once thrown. Still, they were sharp. They could be lethal.

He'd thought he heard voices in the night, and figured that it was probably the homeless again, trying to find shelter in the ruins of Sodosopa. Winter had come, after all, and life on the street in the Colorado mountains wasn't easy. The homeless, he could leave alone. In fact, he was impressed with the creative ones that figured out how to get power to some of the abandoned lofts.

It was the junkies and drug dealers he wouldn't tolerate.

He followed the voices.

“No, the good homeless should be sleeping now,” Mysterion told himself, pulling a small toy listening device and putting it to his ear. The silly thing actually worked!

“I can have a batch ready next week,” someone was saying, “It's gotta cook!”

Mysterion's mind drifted back. The Heroes had discovered a few years ago that there were trace amounts of meth being put in some of the coffees at Tweak Bros. That had explained a lot about Tweek's erratic behaviour, and Mysterion had soon put a stop to that. While the amount had been enough to keep customers coming back for that “special blend,” it had also made a mess of Tweek.

“But I didn't know that _Tweek_ was getting into THAT coffee!” Richard had protested, begging, claiming it would be the end of his business and his marriage, if anyone found out.

“And it'll be the end of your son's life!” Mysterion had informed him, standing on the bar, looking down at the pathetic man, ready to smash his skull with a trucker's tire-thumping nightstick.

Simply put, Mysterion had then beaten Richard Tweak so badly, that the man had spent three weeks in the hospital. It had been even longer before he'd been able to return to work. Tweek's withdrawal hadn't been pretty, either, but thanks to Craig, Tweek had made it. And while Kenny had never confessed to anyone what he'd done, he had suggested to Craig that, “If Super-Craig were to do take matters into his own hands, it might be kinda obvious who did it! They don't know who I am!”

To insure that there would be no further problems, the garage at #17091 had sustained extensive fire damage with Helen and Tweek were not at home. Richard's car had gone up in smoke, though. Not long after, the Tweak family had moved to #20288. Kenny thought he still might be jumpy about potential car-bombs.

Still, Kenny had to wonder what the lasting effects of Tweek's meth addiction had been. He was the smallest boy in class, still jumpy and twitchy, and he was the least developed and weak of all the boys in gym class. All of his baby teeth were out, and Kenny knew that Tweek had at least two dental crowns and was still missing his adult molars, but for four. He hoped they'd grow in healthy. He hoped that Tweek would stay healthy, as he still hadn't been fully lined out at sixteen, in that other aborted Future.

Mysterion followed the voices. They were coming from above, just as he feared. A shadow moved in the dim light of one of The Lofts, abandoned for years. He snorted. He was going to have to climb three stories. He took aim and fired a grappler.

“What was that?” A man's voice hissed.

“Probably a rat,” Another man answered.

Mysterion waited. It would take them a while to get down the stairs if they fled, and he was careful in 'trotting' up the side of the building. He flicked down his night-vision goggles, another stolen item that he regretted having pilfered. Then again, the business was insured. The world turned monochromatic green as he looked up.

“That last batch wasn't so good,” Someone was saying.

“No, it wasn't! I had to rush it, and keep it hid from the wife!” The voice of Stuart McCormick replied, “And with all them other kids coming over to play with my cross-dressing son, I had to find a new hiding place!”

Mysterion stopped. For just a moment, there was turmoil.

And then He and Kenny were in agreement.

This was going to stop.

The Timeline was about to get an enema!

Kenny was shoved aside totally as Mysterion took over. Most of the time, their missions were a joint effort – but not this time.

He increased his climb to a run, and arriving at the third floor, pulled a trucker's 'tire thumper' from his belt. He shattered the window in one stroke, noting the rushed and cheap construction of Sodosopa. He swung in, and as he dropped the club and released the line, two Mysterangs flew from his gloved hands. One struck the stranger in an eye, no doubt taking it out. The man screamed in pain, clutching his wounded face, and ran without so much as seeing his attacker in the shadows. The other struck his partner in the leg.

Stuart McCormick froze, grasping his leg, howling in pain.

Mysterion stepped forward.

“Holy shit, it's you again!” Stuart gasped, putting up his hands and backing away, “I thought you were an hallucination!”

“You're making meth _again_!” Mysterion accused him, “AGAIN! Even after my last warning! Even after losing your kids once! Even after you KNEW that a child was consuming tainted coffee!”

“I told Richard to keep it put up!” Stuart protested, “I gotta have money! What am I _supposed_ to do?”

“GET A FUCKING JOB!” Mysterion yelled at him, not caring if he woke the homeless, or the Dead, or not.

“Now you sound like my damn kid, he ...” Stuart began, but he stopped. The costume gave no clue of Mysterion's identity, but for one – his size. “Kenny!” Stuart leered at him, and Mysterion could see his advantage of fear slipping away.

“I wouldn't pull that Mysterang out, if I were you,” Mysterion advised, “It could well be sunk into an artery!” He paused, standing his ground. “Not that anyone is going to miss you!”

“You crazy little son of a bitch!”

“Only because YOU made her that way!” Mysterion growled in reply, dropping into a crouch, poised to attack. He slipped his thumbs over his palms, pushing up, revealing three sharpened and jagged wings from the back wrists of his gloves. He hoped they'd hold, as it had taken him weeks to make them.

“So you're the famous South Park vigilante?” Stuart laughed, “Damn, boy! I knew you were stupid, but I never even dreamed, no matter how drunk I got!”

“You know your friend will have to go the hospital, and he'll squeal!” Mysterion warned him. “If I were you, I'd either leave, or I'd cooperate!” For just a second, Kenny remembered how he'd nearly taken out Butters' left eye with a ninja star.

“Oh, nohhh!” Stuart laughed, “You're not scaring me into doing what you want anymore, you dumbass little shit!”

Mysterion took a step forward, and surprisingly, Stuart stepped back.

Then he pulled his flashlight.

The explosion of light in the night-vision goggles blinded the boy, and he fought to jump back and get them off. He knew what was coming, and he tightened up and tried to turn. He felt a rib crack as the man struck him. Jerking the goggles off with a yelp of pain, he brought his booted foot up, landing a kick to his father's chin. He heard teeth break, and Stuart cursing. Righting himself, he lashed out with his left arm, but missed, misjudging his twelve year old reach. He sidestepped the bum's rush just in time, tripping Stuart up. He slid across the floor, stopping just feet from the shattered window. Blood from glass shards ran from his hands and forearms.

“You are SO gonna pay for this, Kenny!” Stuart promised him.

His vision returning, Mysterion looked for any advantage.

Stuart was advancing on him again.

The Hero threw another Mysterang, sticking it in Stuart's belly, but it didn't seem to slow him down. The adrenaline was pumping, and the man didn't even seem to feel it.

 _KILL HIM_! The Other screamed in Kenny's mind, and Kenny found himself wanting to.

And Kenny McCormick recoiled from the very horror of that thought.

Mysterion turned and jumped to the side, grabbing at a low beam. He hoisted himself up, out of reach, and stood up on the beam. He lit an M80 firecracker, and dropped it on Stuart's head. The explosion was deafening for them both. Stuart went down screaming in pain, his hat on fire.

Ripping the flaming hat off, Mysterion could just see him reaching for something in the dim light. Too late, he realized that it was his dropped tire-thumper. Stuart threw it, and the club hit Mysterion in the shin. With a cry of pain, he fell from the beam, landing on his back. It knocked the wind out of him, and he cracked his head on the floor. Stunned, he raised his feet and hoped for the best. He caught Stuart in the belly, driving the Mysterang in deeper. He pushed, flipping the skinny man over. Stuart rolled, and Mysterion saw something sparkling in the shadows. He heard a familiar sound he could only describe as 'wrinkling'.

“Well, well, well? What have we here?” Professor Chaos asked, stepping forward into the dim light.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Stuart demanded, “Another one? Who are you, the meth-head kid from the coffee shop?” He laughed.

“Oh, no, I'm not Tweek,” Chaos answered calmly, and Mysterion could just make out the other boy's hand going for his belt. In the odd light, Professor Chaos looked, for all the world, like some real super villain stepping out of the shadows, his cloak billowing menacingly behind him.

“Oh, God, no!” Kenny fretted, realizing that Butters probably had no clue what he'd just gotten himself into. At any minute, he expected the boy to realize it, panic, and then Mysterion would have to save them both from Stuart. True, he'd seen Kevin and Stuart fight before – some real knock-down-drag-outs, but never anything like this.

“Chaos! This isn't playtime!” Mysterion growled at him.

“I know, I saw the other guy coming out,” Chaos cooed, “I called the police on his own phone, after I whacked him with an old shovel I found!”

Mysterion could hardly believe it. There was something in the sound of Butters' voice that was off.

Something frightening.

 _He's finally snapped_! The Other mused, _All those years with his whacko dad, and he's snapped_!

“You get the fuck outta here, kid, I got no beef with you!” Stuart told him, pointing at Mysterion, “HIM on the other hand? Well,” he laughed, clearly gone in the grip of one drug or another, combined with drink, “You don't _wanna_ see what I'm gonna do with him!”

“For as much as I dislike Mysterion, my arch-nemesis, I have to side with him, sir,” Professor Chaos said coldly, and it made Kenny shiver, “I'm afraid I'm going to have to side with him, against you!”

“It's your funeral!” Stuart shrugged, but Mysterion saw him wobble just a bit.

He stood carefully, quietly, but the floor was slick.

Slick with blood.

Stuart was bleeding.

Mysterion's side and shin screamed at him in pain, but he ignored it. His head throbbed. Stuart glanced back at him, and then Chaos struck, smashing him upside the head with Paladin Butters' hammer. The only problem was, it seemed, that Chaos had traded up for a small-pound sledgehammer!

_I wanna be...Sledgehammer! Why don't you call my name? SLEDGE!_

Stuart howled, lashing out, but missing as Chaos danced back, giggling.

“God, he's lost it!” Mysterion said, as he fired his other grappler.

It struck Stuart in the back, knocking him out of the window.

He screamed on the way down.

Mysterion laughed.

Kenny watched in stunned horror.

“Holy shit, Dude!” Chaos gasped, leaning over to gaze down, where Stuart had landed in an old dumpster full of discarded insulation, “We've killed him!”

“Oh, fuck?!” They could just hear Stuart moaning.

“Or maybe not?” Chaos wondered, turning his attention to Mysterion, “Now, we have some things to discuss, Mysterion!”

“Play time is over, Butters,” Kenny sighed, grimacing in pain, as he pulled off his cowl, his head bleeding, “I'm hurt!”

“OH HAMBURGERS!” Butters yelped, as they heard sirens in the distance, closing in. “OH shit! Oh God! Oh shit! Hang on? KENNY?”

“Don't tell me you didn't know?” Kenny gaped in disbelief, not sure if Butters were joking or not. Surely he had to know? They'd been playing this game for at least three or four years, from Kenny's perspective.

The sirens were getting louder. Kenny began grabbing up his used gear.

“How do we get outta here? We'll get caught!” Butters started to panic, “I'll be grounded for life!”

“Laundry chute,” Kenny said, wincing as Butters gave him a hand up, “It still works. We can fit down it. This was a luxury suite, once. C'mon!”

The boys slid.

Three stories of a harrowing ride later, and they were ejected, painfully, onto the basement floor.

“Service access!” Kenny grunted, holding his side, as they made their escape. Butters seemed to have twisted his ankle, but he kept up. “My house!” Kenny gasped, as they made it back in his window just as the cops arrived. They didn't hear Stuart anymore, and figured it would take them a while to locate him.

“Quiet!” Kenny warned Butters, “Don't wake up Karen and Mom!”

“Oh, this is bad! This is really bad!” Butters fretted, flopping down on Kenny's bed and pulling his costume off. He froze.

“I know who you are, Butters,” Kenny sighed, deciding that he didn't want to know just far his friend's delusions ran. For all he knew, it looked like MPD. He stripped off his costume and hid it, standing there in his briefs.

Butters stared at him.

Kenny's side was bruising, and his rib was clearly cracked. It hurt to breathe, and his shin had a knot coming up on it, along with a large and angry bruise. His head was bleeding, but not too badly.

Butters undressed, and to Kenny's surprise, had his normal clothes in a flat pack on his back.

“You're hurt bad, Kenny!” He fretted, pulling a first aid kit from his Chaos costume.

“ _Really_?” Kenny wondered. “Shit, I need ice! There's some in the old fridge out back, Butters, would you?”

Butters did that. “Man, it's cold out!” He said, when he returned.

“You're in your briefs,” Kenny reminded him.

“OH!” Butters blushed, but he did prepare the ice pack for Kenny's side, and one for his leg. He bandaged Kenny's various little cuts and scrapes, treating them with ointment. The cut on Kenny's head wasn't bad, and he held an ice bag over the gauze pad.

Kenny found his touch gentle, and not unwelcome. “Much as I get my butt kicked, I need a kit!” Butters sounded proud. “Well, I should go,” he finally said, satisfied that he'd doctored Kenny up as best he could, “You best get that rib X-rayed!”

“Not the first time,” Kenny growled, in his Mysterion voice. “Thanks, Butters, you probably saved my life,” Kenny thanked him in his normal voice.

Butters blushed. “Yeah, well I'll pay for it,” Butters fretted.

“Not if you stay here,” Kenny mused, as he moved to light a few candles on saucers up on cement bricks to reduce the fire risk. “You can tell them my dad went nuts and attacked you! You were hiding! It's not really a lie!”

“It's not, is it?” Butters smiled, and Kenny realized just how much he'd missed playing with him and the others.

“I need some help, anyway,” Kenny added, “Dad's not gonna get out of this one, I think?”

“I hope he don't die!” Butters worried, as he helped Kenny get into bed.

“Mom has a small space heater in their room. She's passed out by now, so go and get it, would you?” Kenny asked, “And grab a red pill with the number 2348 on it from her dresser. It's a pain pill.”

Butters looked scared out of his mind, but he did that. He also threw a couple more blankets over her. By the time he got back to Kenny's room, he was shivering. He gave Kenny the pill, and Kenny directed him to his hidden stash of sodas and junk food.

“Get in,” Kenny told him, after some refreshments, “It gets cold in here. Don't mind Drogon, he likes to sleep with me. He's a good rat.” Kenny smiled. Butters' jaw dropped. Kenny realized just how much he'd missed that rat.

“Now, don't think I'm...I mean...I'm not as gay as Tweek'n'Craig, OK?” Butters worried.

“You're not 'as gay'?” Kenny laughed, snuggling up with him. “Relax, Leo!” He said, out of habit. A habit that was four years coming.

“No one's ever called me that before, Ken! I like it!” Butters smiled. And he did relax. They got comfortable, Kenny on his right side to favor his bad rib. Butters moved to keep him propped up. He was taller than Kenny, and Kenny's head fit Butters' shoulder just right. He sighed. He was, after all, just twelve again.

“This one time, I had to go to a anti-gay camp,” Butters whispered, “I didn't know what it was. They said I was confused, and bi-curious. I know what that means now,” he added proudly.

“Yeah?” Kenny stifled a laugh.

“Ken? You ever...done it?” Butters asked shyly.

“I had a BJ from a girl once, when I was like nine,” Kenny admitted, “I was too young. I didn't really love her, either,” his advanced four years of experience coming out again.

“Have you ever...kissed...kissed...a...”

Kenny gently kissed his cheek. “I have now,” he sighed, wincing a bit. The pain pill was starting to kick in slowly, but it would be a while before it knocked him out. “Thank you, Leo.”

In the dim candlelight, Kenny felt Butters' lips touch his. His skin was soft and warm against his own. He could feel Butters shivering.

“You think I'll go to Hell for this?” Butters worried.

“Been there,” Kenny replied, “You go for a lot less.”

Butters nearly panicked, but Kenny held him. He ran his hand over Butters' back. “Butters, we're twelve. We shouldn't do anything, I don't think.”

“It's nice to just cuddle,” Butters sighed, watching the flashing red and blue lights in the window. “Ken, what if the cops come?”

“They won't,” Kenny assured him, his hand resting on Butters' stomach.

“Your hand's cold!” Butters laughed. “Ken, you think you might be...?”

“I think I'm twelve,” Kenny repeated, “And I hurt. And I'm tired, Leo.” He paused. Butters sniffled. “But I wouldn't be opposed to experimenting, when we both feel better?”

“You wouldn't? Really?” Butters gasped, “I mean, I didn't mean to try an' kill you, I mean, when you were Mysterion, and...”

“Leo, it's OK,” Kenny yawned. He kissed Butters again, softly, on the lips. Butters returned it.

“Kissing isn't sex is it?” Butters asked, “It doesn't mean...? I never kissed a boy before!”

“Leo, look at Tweek'n'Craig. Everyone, well just about everyone, thinks they're great. Don't worry about it. You get a little older, and your body will tell you who you like,” Kenny assured him, “Don't rush in and screw up, like I did.”

“But you did it with a girl?”

“I got a BJ from a girl,” Kenny corrected him, “Besides, it's not gay, if you leave your socks on.” Kenny joked.

“Really?” Butters asked.

 _Dear, sweet and innocent Butters_! Kenny thought.

“Ken, your hair rubbin' my neck is givin' me a stiffie,” Butters informed him.

“Yeah, I got one, too, Leo, but I hurt to bad to use it.”

“What if I...I get excited?” Butters fretted.

“I know how to do laundry, Leo,” Kenny assured him again.

“You think Tweek'n'Craig sleep in their socks, Ken?”

Kenny laughed. The pain was just about more than he could stand. “I'm sorry!” he cried.

“Oh, gosh, no! I'm sorry, Ken! I'm so dumb, sometimes!”

“No,” Kenny gasped, which hurt more, “You're _not_! You're the kindest kid I know, Leo. And if you loved someone, they'd be a total dumbass to let you go!” He waited a bit. Butters' hands were soft, as they cuddled for warmth in the cold house. The pain pill was kicking in. Finally. “Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Tweek'n'Craig, I guarantee (yawwwwwn) do NOT sleep in their socks.”

Butters squeaked in surprise. “Well, yeah, they don't make footie PJ's in our size,” He then realized, “I wish they still did. My feet get cold.”

“I know,” Kenny yawned again. “Leo? I'm about to pass out from the pill, but you need to know something?”

“What?”

“We ain't got socks on,” Kenny breathed. Then he laughed again. The pain was so bad that despite the pill, he cried. The rib was definitely broken.

“We should call 911!” Butters fretted.

“Just hold me, 'til I pass out, Leo,” Kenny mumbled.

And Butters did just that.

“Well, hey, are you Drogon?” He asked the rat that had come to curl up in Kenny's hair.

Drogon squeaked, smelling of egg roll, and went to sleep.

So did Butters.

*

At some point in time, in the not-so-distant future, Prisoner #10980 at the Colorado State Pen flinched in his sleep. His form under the blankets shifted and lengthened. The number on his uniform changed as well, but the name did not.

McCORMICK

At _**Historic Kenny's House**_ in abandoned _**Sodosopa**_ , Mrs McCormick slept on, suddenly alone in bed.

In the room adjacent, Kevin McCormick suddenly materialized in his old bed. The furnishings shifted a bit, and the house warmed. Near a heat vent, a pair of construction worker's boots sat waiting, warming.

In the room across the hall, young Karen slept on, safe and warm in her new bed.

There was no one in the room next to hers, though.

The full moon had risen, and atop one of the abandoned lofts, a figure clad in deep purple and black watched over the town, his cape billowing on the breeze behind him. He was soon joined by another, the moonlight reflecting on the tin foil of his mask. His green cape joined the deep purple one, waving softly.

The newcomer burped. “Too much partying,” he groaned.

“Tell me about it,” The other in purple agreed gruffly, taking his hand.

And at #20288, a red house, two boys lay in bed, regretting all the birthday cake they'd eaten.

“Happy birthday, Craig,” Tweek whispered again, his lips brushing Craig's ear.

Some years before, when he'd first slept over, Kenny McCormick had heard that frightened, whimpering sound for the first time.

He just hadn't realized that it _hadn't_ been _Tweek_ making it.

 


	9. Bad Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Kenny and Butters spend the night in the hospital. Word is out about Mysterion and Chaos, and Kenny exposes an ugly secret about another parent. Unintended major changes hit the future as a result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, angst, and child pornography mentioned. Some fluff. More nightmares.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 9**

**Bad Timing**

The next morning, the school was abuzz with news of what had happened in the ruins of Sodosopa.

“Did you guys hear?” Craig Tucker asked, as he and those guys met up with Cartman, Stan, and Kyle at school the next morning.

“You're getting married?” Cartman smirked, which made Tweek twitch.

“No, that was last week, Fat Ass,” Craig replied, deadpan as usual, “And you weren't invited. Anyway,” he went on, as the others laughed, “I heard from an eighth grader, you know, 'cause his dad's a cop, that Mysterion and Professor Chaos teamed up last night to take out a couple of drug dealers.”

The boys all exchanged worried looks.

“We haven't done the superhero thing for like, a year?” Stan wondered.

“How do they know it was them?” Cartman asked, “I mean, seriously? Superheroes again?”

“Who _else_ runs around in purple spandex, or teal and tinfoil at night?” Craig countered.

“That explains why we haven't seen Kenny and Butters yet, today,” Kyle nodded.

“That's so gay!” Cartman laughed.

“How's it gay?” Craig asked, “I'm gay? Super-Craig was gay, but we don't play superheroes anymore.” He nodded at Tweek. “So if we're gay, and we don't play superheroes anymore, then playing superheroes isn't gay, is it?”

Cartman's jaw dropped.

“Shut that thing, or you'll catch flies,” Kyle told him.

“Or we'll all be sucked in,” Jason White added, as he arrived with Token.

“When did you start talking?” Cartman wondered.

“I kinda miss playing superheroes,” Clyde offered, as he arrived with Bebe and those girls. Wendy took Stan's arm, and they kissed.

“All right, if we're going to start the morning sex scenes, I'm leaving!” Cartman complained, just as he did every morning. The problem was, he never did leave.

“Butters is in the hospital with a sprained ankle,” Kyle then said, looking up from his phone, “That's what his Facebook says!”

“NRGH! Yeah!” Tweek nodded, looking around and tightening his grip on Craig's hand, “That eighth grader said the d-drug dealer was that creepy Facebook guy, too!”

“He said that some kid in purple spandex stuck a ninja star in that creeper's eye,” Craig added, putting his arm around Tweek's shoulders, “Only it wasn't a ninja star! It was a question mark, with razor sharp edges.”

“Hang on?” Stan cut in, “You mean that weird guy who drives around town, yelling at people that don't add him to Facebook as a friend? That freak that spit on me once, when you all got me sucked into Facebook?”

“Th-that's him!” Jimmy agreed, “Caught him w-with a b-bunch of m-mehhhhhth!”

“But, what's this have to do with Butters' ankle?” Token wondered.

“Look at this!” Wendy exclaimed, holding up her phone, “This just came up on the news page! It says that the creepy guy's contact was Stuart McCormick, also in the hospital, who was found 'savagely beaten' in a dumpster!”

The former superheroes all looked at one another.

“You think Kenny and Butters _beat up_ Kenny's dad?” Cartman laughed.

“I dunno,” Stan held out his hands, “Kenny hasn't been acting right lately. It's like he changed, overnight?”

“Guys, Kenny's in the hospital, too,” Kyle read from phone, and everyone looked at him. “Butters says he's got a broken rib, a slight concussion, and a hairline fracture of his shin. They had to put two stitches in his head. He posted a picture of Kenny's chart. Look!” Kyle held up his phone.

“HA! Kinny got his ass kicked!” Cartman laughed.

“What the hell _happened_ to him?” Clyde asked, watching Bebe pulling up the news feed on her phone.

“It says here,” Bebe read, her face paling, “That Mr McCormick went nuts and beat him up last night!”

“ARGH! He was probably cooking METH again!” Tweek squeaked.

“Oh, it gets better,” Bebe read, eyes wide, “'Mr McCormick claims that his young son, Kenny, and that 'meth-head blond kid at the coffee shop', attacked him last night, and then threw him out a third story window'! He claims they were dressed up like Batman and Lex Luthor, and looked pretty gay.”

“He can't even keep his comic book heroes and villains straight!” Clyde scoffed.

“Batman's not gay!” Craig scoffed, “Now, Robin, _maybe_?” He grinned.

“Which one?” Tweek grinned.

“Damian Wayne,” Jason offered, “I think he's got the hots for Superboy.”

“Nrgh!” Tweek whined, “Wait! I was...I was in my room all night doing homework! Then I watched Netflix! I have alibis! He can't blame me!”

“Tweek, honey, calm down,” Craig pulled him closer, “I know. We watched _**Stranger Things**_ reruns until bedtime, on shared video, OK? Everyone in the chat knows you were home.”

“I'll vouch?” Jason offered.

“Me too!” Token added.

“'Mr McCormick describes the other assailant as being 'dressed in dull green, with a lot of tin foil',” Wendy read on, “'And that the boy smacked him upside the head with a large hammer.'”

“Butters,” the boys all agreed in unison.

“See? SEE!” Tweek gasped. Craig put his hands on his shoulders and faced him. He pulled a comb out and fixed Tweek's hair. Then he smoothed Tweek's rumpled blue jacket. Craig then pulled a Tweak Bros. Coffee napkin out of his backpack.

“You got a little pastry frosting, right there,” Craig advised, wiping off Tweek's upper lip. The bit of frosting didn't budge. Craig kissed it off. He then handed Tweek his coffee thermos. “Just get a sip, Babe, it's fine.”

“Oh, please, stop,” Cartman rolled his eyes, but Tweek had noticeably calmed down. The boys just watched. A few of the girls “Awww'd!” at the scene. Tweek blushed, but he didn't spill the coffee.

“You never fix my hair?” Stan asked Wendy.

“Do want me to?” Wendy smiled, “I think there's something stuck to _your_ lip, too?”

“I am gonna throw up!” Cartman declared.

“Guys, this is serious,” Kyle cut in, “I mean, Kenny's had it rough, yeah, but his dad's never beat him before? And honestly, if those two were playing superheroes again, I don't think Butters could take out Kenny by himself. This is bad!”

“So what?” Cartman interrupted, “They were playing, and they ran across Kenny's dad making a drug deal with Facebook-Guy. Kenny's dad was probably drunk and high, him and the guy got into it, and it was probably that Facebook guy that beat up Kenny too.”

“I don't th-think so,” Tweek disagreed, “Remember when _my_ dad got beat up?”

“That was probably the New Kid,” Clyde waved him off, “Whatever happened to him, anyway?”

Everyone just shrugged, but Craig looked uncomfortable.

“OH! Well, OK,” Tweek sighed in relief, “Yeah, I never much liked him. Her. Whoever?”

“Yeah, but it got us back together, Babe,” Craig reminded him.

“Yeah,” Tweek breathed, the two of them just staring at each other.

“OH STOP!” Cartman complained loudly.

The bell rang.

 _This isn't right_ , Kyle thought, as they headed into English class, _Why would those two, all of a sudden, decide to play dress-up and go after each other last night? It doesn't make sense_.

*

Waking up in the hospital was not what Kenny had expected. However, it was simply waking up. It wasn't a Resurrection wake-up, and he was relieved at that. What he wasn't relieved to see were the detectives, along with Harrison Yates, and his mother. He saw Butters in the bed next to his own, playing with his phone, and his leg elevated and wrapped in a cold pack.

 _I'm still here! I'm still twelve!_ Kenny exhaled hard in relief.

“Don't be posting about this case, yet, young man,” Yates warned Butters.

“Yes, sir,” Butters agreed, as he was doing just that.

“You feel up to answering some questions?” Yates asked Kenny.

_I don't know who you are, Mysterion, and this point – I don't care!_

“Yes, sir,” Kenny groaned, taking a sip of water. He noted the look on his mother's face. It was a look he'd never seen there before: determination.

“You just tell the officer everything, Kenny,” she encouraged him, her voice sounding different, too.

“Who did this to you?” Yates asked.

“My dad,” Kenny answered immediately.

“Why?”

“I caught him making a meth deal, up on the third floor of the old Lofts building,” Kenny told him, “Him and that other guy, I don't know who he was, woke me up, talking. There's a meth lab in that building somewhere, sir.”

“We found it,” one of the other officers verified, “Along with Stuart McCormick's blood, another person's blood, and some of yours on the floor, Kenny.”

“We've already heard from young Mr Stotch, Kenny,” Yates warned him.

Kenny knew what that meant. They were looking for matching stories. Fortunately, the boys had worked it out the night before, before Karen had gotten their mother out of bed to tell her that Kenny wasn't waking up, he was hurt bad, and that Butters was there, too.

“Butters came over to do homework,” Kenny explained, “English stuff, hard stuff. He went with me. That's when they saw us, and beat us up.”

“Why didn't you call 911?” Yates asked.

“Would you have come?” Kenny countered. He waited. “I didn't think so, sir.”

Yates held up a plastic bag with a Mysterang in it. “Recognize this?” He asked expectantly, “We pulled one from that creep's eye, ripped his eyeball clean out! Nasty piece of work, this thing? They also pulled two of them out of your dad.”

“Mysterion showed up,” Kenny answered, which wasn't a lie at all.

“Oh, he _did_?” Yates wondered. “And _he_ did this? _He_ threw Stuart McCormick out the window?”

“He saved our lives!” Kenny retorted, “They were gonna kill us!”

“I don't doubt it,” Yates agreed, glancing at Butters, “But as banged up as you were, you should have called 911! You're lucky you woke up, with that concussion. Looks like your friend patched you up pretty good, too.” He paused, making some notes. “You didn't see this other 'superhero', did you?”

“Professor Chaos?” Kenny asked, “Yeah, it was him. I was really surprised that he went after my dad. Bashed his head with a hammer, probably saved my life.”

“I thought Chaos was a villain, sir?” The other office asked, “Doesn't he hate Mysterion?

“Maybe he _used_ to be?” Kenny sighed, pressing back into his pillow. The adults didn't notice Butters' little laugh. “I think he's a good kid. He just got hurt is all, when all he really needed was a friend.”

“Stories match,” Yates nodded, “Let's get this thing started! Mrs McCormick, I'm afraid that your husband is headed up the river – for a long, long time! Attempted murder of two children, conspiracy, meth lab, public intox, trespassing, assault with intent, all that good stuff!”

“GOOD!” Mrs McCormick snapped at him, “You send that worthless sum'bitch to prison, where he can't hurt my babies no more!”

“Mrs McCormick,” Yates added, in a softer tone, “I know you have a job. I know you're trying. However, I think you should look into all the aid you can get, perhaps look for another job? Maybe even assisted housing?”

“I don't take no handouts!” Mrs McCormick protested.

“You're going to have to, Ma'am, or you're going to lose your children – permanently,” Yates warned her.

“Why doesn't the town turn Sodosopa into low-income housing, instead of just letting it all fall down?” Kenny asked.

“That's not a bad idea, sir?” One of the officers agreed, “They could even have that TV show, you know, _**White People Renovating Houses,**_ do a special on Kenny's house?”

The officers were all discussing it on the way out, but Kenny wasn't hopeful.

“Don't low-income projects usually attract crime, sir?” The other officer asked.

“With Mysterion and his new friend prowling around there? I hope it _does_!” Yates smiled, sticking his head back in the door to wink at Kenny.

 _Shit! He knows!_ Kenny realized.

When the police were gone, Mrs McCormick broke down. Kenny wanted to comfort her, but he found that he had none to give. Besides, with his rib and leg, he couldn't _get_ up. Still, he had to wonder why she'd tolerated it for this long. Kevin leaving after the fights hadn't done it. Had it actually taken Stuart trying to murder Kenny, to get her to wake up? If that weren't enough, what would be?

 _Typical battered wife thing_ , The Other told Kenny.

Kenny ignored that voice. He looked over at Butters, who was smiling back at him.

“Things are gonna change, Kenny,” his mother then promised him, “You wait and see!”

“Sure, Mom,” Kenny sighed, “I really wanna sleep now, if that's OK?”

She kissed his forehead, then left, wringing her hands. “Oh, Steve and Linda are gonna be so mad at me!” She was talking to herself.

“The hell's _she_ worried about?” Butters fretted, “I'm gonna be grounded forever!”

*

Later that evening, the Stotches showed up to collect Butters. Kenny, however, was being held overnight for observation. The boys had just finished a dinner of some pretty awful meat loaf and what they thought were mashed potatoes, when the bickering couple arrived.

“BUTTERS!” Steven yelled at him, “You - are - grounded!”

“Can't you even go get help with homework, without the police getting involved?” Linda demanded.

Butters looked terrified.

“No, he's not grounded,” Kenny said, his voice cold and flat.

“You be quiet!” Steven told him, “This is all _your_ fault!”

_It's all your fault, Kenny..._

“In case you forgot already, Asshole, Butters saved my life!” Kenny snapped at him, which made his head throb. He could feel heat in the palm of his left hand, and an idea came to him. He wasn't sure of the exact dates, but he was pretty sure, from what he remembered of Reality before he'd bent it, that Steven Stotch's laptop was _already_ full of kiddie-porn: namely, Butters and a few other boys he knew. He might have been jumping the gun, but Kenny remembered joining in. For the money.

And for the setup. He'd make sure that Stotch was not physically harming the boys, take his money, and then turn him in. Butters, he was convinced, would be much better off with his dad out of his life.

“Give me the phone, Butters,” Steven ordered him.

Butters seemed to realize what Kenny meant. He hesitated for only a second, then tossed his phone to Kenny. “NO!” Then Butters pressed the NURSE button. He nodded to Kenny. “Uhm, I'm sorry, Mom, but...” He began, but Kenny had already dialed 911.

The nurse arrived.

“You get out!” Steven ordered her.

“I will NOT!” The nurse countered, “What is going on in here?”

But Kenny was glaring at Steven. “Dispatch? My name is Leopold Stotch. I'm in the hospital with Kenny McCormick. Yes! Detective Yates was here earlier. Good! OK, well my dad is taking naked, sexy pictures of me and some of my friends. He says it's artistic, but I think it's illegal, and I don't like it. They're all on his laptop at home. It's in the safe in his den. The combination is 25-48-3. The password is 'White$wallow69!',” Kenny spelled it out, hoping he remembered it right. Then again, he'd seen it a few years 'ago', and then only over the man's shoulder.

Steven Stotch froze. His wife just stared at him in horror.

“It's...it's true, Mom,” Butters nodded, tearing up, “But I...I didn't wanna tell you, since you tried to kill me that other time that Dad was, you know, goin' out and bein' gay, an' all!”

“He's selling the photos online,” Kenny explained, “No sex acts, just poses and Photoshop.”

“Oh, my God!” The nurse gasped, as she began yelling for Security.

Steven turned to face Kenny again, as Linda shoved him away, screaming and flailing at him, calling him all sorts of names that Butters had never imagined before.

“You'll pay for this, Kenny!” Stotch warned him.

“I don't think so, sir,” Kenny grinned maliciously at him, “Child molesters don't last long in jail.”

And with that, Security arrived to take Steven Stotch away. A few nurses escorted an hysterical Linda out as well.

“Let's go have some tea, Dear?” One of them was asking her.

Butters' phone rang.

“Hello?” Kenny answered it, noting the caller ID of 'Yates, Harrison'. It was his personal number.

“Nice move, Mysteriooooon, we're on the scene now,” Yates drawled, chuckling, “But how did you know?”

“I know all, I see all, sir!” The Other replied for Kenny.

In the background, Kenny could hear someone vomiting.

“THAT SON OF A BITCH!” Another voice yelled.

“Oh, well, that'd be Douglas' dad, he's a cop, too,” Butters shrugged, as another nurse took their trays and settled them in for the evening.

When she'd gone, Butters asked Kenny, “Ken, how did you know? I mean, you weren't there? And I never told no one. Did Douglas or someone tell you about it?” Butters shivered. “Uhh, well, see, Dad said he'd...he'd cut our wieners off, if we told!”

Kenny sighed, making himself as comfortable as he could. He'd never been overly fond of his own father, but he couldn't imagine a man doing something as horrible as Steven had done, to his own son. He realized that his own father would have probably beaten him severely, if not killed him, but that didn't help. Kenny saw what had happened to Butters as far worse. Worse yet, he'd played his cards too soon with the naked photos issue. Now he had only way to explain it.

“No one's going to cut your wiener off, Leo,” Kenny went that route. “Your dad is going to be in jail for a long, long time.” He thought he might try and distract him. “You said you never kissed a boy before?”

“We never, uhm, I mean,” Butters blushed, “We never _did_ stuff like that. It was all like, poses, you know, with them leafy headbands, and fake grapes, and sandals, and stuff? Well,” Butters blushed deeper, “Sometimes, we'd hold up sex toys and stuff, but we...we never used 'em on each other. Most times, it was just us naked on plain backgrounds. Are there a lot of people out there that like to look at naked little boys, Ken?”

“No, just a very small percentage, like that time Cartman brought NAMBLA to town,” Kenny assured him, astonished that Butters wasn't more traumatized by the revelation. That, or he just wasn't letting it out. _God, with the way they treat him, and ground him, and then this? It's no wonder his mind created the persona of Professor Chaos! Shit! It's a wonder he hasn't ax-murdered them both by now!_

“Oh! Well, I guess I don't get to go home tonight, after all?” Butters sighed.

“There's lots of nights I don't go home,” Kenny confessed. “I think that's part of why I became Mysterion.”

Butters just nodded. Kenny could tell that he knew.

“Ken, you talk funny, all of a sudden,” Butters informed him, flipping through the channels on the TV with the remote. “I'm not tryin' to be, you know...but it's like you got smart all of a sudden, too?” Butters paused, and Kenny knew what was coming. “You never did tell me how you knew about the naked pictures, Ken?”

“You'd never believe it,” Kenny told him, but then again, he _was_ dealing with Butters.

“I, uhm, watched you fighting your dad, you know,” Butters went on, “And, well, I don't know where you got all them wonderful toys, or how you knew how to make 'em, either? And you didn't used to fight like that, Kenny. Used to be, when we were kids,” Butters said it as if they were suddenly old, “I could get, well, you know, the best of you, sometimes. I remember this one time when they thought that I'd killed you!” Butters smiled. “Boy, those days were, uhm, well, they sure were fun, Ken!”

“What do _you_ think, Leo?” Kenny asked sincerely, trying to hold it back. Injured or not, having just caused what he _knew_ must be a major shift to the Timeline or not, he was still just so _damn_ happy to still be there, that he wanted to cry again.

He'd been doing a lot of that lately, he thought.

 _Dad never attacked me before,_ Kenny thought, _He was still there, sitting on his ass, drinking beer in front of the TV, fighting with Mom, when I was sixteen. When I died..._

 _Then why do we remember it differently?_ The Other wondered.

 _I don't know,_ Kenny had to admit, but knowing full well that the two counts of attempted murder of children was going to be enough to put Stuart away for a hell of a lot longer than four years!

“You're, well, you're not a...pod-person, are you?” Butters fretted, sounding genuinely worried.

“No, I'm not an alien, Leo,” Kenny assured him, “I know you're allergic to almonds, really bad. I know that you like Lorde's music, and that you hate that haircut.”

“I never told anyone that!” Butters gasped, “About my haircut!”

“Remember when you were selling kisses from the girls? Pimp Daddy Butters?” Kenny laughed, which hurt like hell.

“Yeah, that was Sally Darson,” Butters recalled. “But, well, I don't understand something, Ken?”

Kenny hit the NURSE button.

“What's that, Leo?” Kenny groaned.

“Well, I thought it was pretty nice, you know?” Butters explained, “But, uhm, well, Craig was helping Cartman beat me up? I mean, well, not beat me up, but I was hung up by my shorts on the tetherball pole, and...and they all said if I was eight, I should have kissed a girl by then. Even Craig! Was Craig not gay back then, Ken? And Tweek? Well, I remember he sure seemed happy for me?”

The nurse arrived, and Kenny asked for some pain medication, as he was going to need it.

“Well, now, if you have too much, you can get constipated, and Nurse Christina will have to give you an enema!” She warned Kenny, which only made them laugh again, and made Kenny want to cry again. In the end, he got some pain meds.

“That's called 'Herd Mentality', Leo,” Kenny explained, suddenly feeling woozy, but better. “Back then, it wasn't cool to be gay. I mean, unless you were Big Gay Al. See, Craig and Tweek probably realized that they liked boys, but they didn't understand it, and they knew they'd be made fun of, or beat up, if they told anyone. So they went along with it, trying to play the 'straight guy' role. That's because everyone was straight, or so it seemed. So they acted like it was cool to kiss Sally, too. That way, they fit in. Can you imagine the ripping they'd'a got back then? I bet Tweek and Craig both felt like shit, afterwards.”

“You sound so, well, you sound, uhm, so grown up?” Butters wondered.

Kenny sighed. The meds were hitting him already, and he knew he'd be asleep soon.

“Leo, I n-knew about the...the naked pictures because I was there,” Kenny admitted, and it felt as if some great weight had fallen off his chest. He inhaled, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions.

“You mean Dad had you over, when I wasn't there?” Butters gasped.

 _Dear, sweet Butters!_ Kenny thought. “Yes,” Kenny answered, feeling so ashamed of the lie. He didn't understand it at all, as he'd lied plenty of times in his many lives.

 _Well what are you gonna tell him, for fuck's sake? That you pulled a Sam Beckett/Quantum Leap into yourself from four years in the future?_ The Other scoffed, although He seemed to be sounding woozy, too. _Why don't you tell him that Craig is going to kill Tweek, when he cracks up Red Racer, too? And that you've been driving yourself crazy, committing suicide over and over, trying to go back and prevent it, because you resurrect more than Jesus does?_

Kenny couldn't take it. He sniffled, and then, as hard as he tried to hold it back, he started crying again. He clenched his left hand into a fist, but it felt cold. He strained his eyes, but through the tears, he couldn't see any light at all from that precious point that Old-Young Kenny had told him to hold on to.

And then Butters was there, balancing dangerously on his good foot, holding his hand that didn't have an IV in the back of it, and begging to know what was wrong. Then he was crying too, apologizing for his father's heinous actions.

Kenny gripped his hand tightly, suddenly afraid to let go. He was scared that he was hurting his friend, but he was also terrified to let go. So long as he felt that warmth in his hand, that grip, then he was sure that he'd remain there.

He'd remain there, four years in his past, where his friends were still alive.

 _I know where to find an oversize vacuum boost tank, and a master cylinder, Craig!_  
Sure, I can help out. I'm good at taking things apart.  
You helped me rebuild my bike, after all! It's great!  
Greeley sucked! But the other foster kids were OK.

_I found this old Corvette under a tarp in their barn._

“No, Kenny, it's gonna be OK!” Butters kept telling him, “It wasn't you! _I_ should have called the cops a long time ago! I _knew_ it was wrong, I just _knew_ it! But Dad said...and, well, you know? I trusted him. He wasn't beating me, or grounding me, you know?” Butters cried, “And he was taking pictures! It was kinda fun, all those props and poses. It was funny, I thought? And he was...being nice to me!” Butters whimpered, “I liked it when he was nice to me, instead of yelling or grounding me!”

“Leo,” Kenny managed, “J-just don't let go, OK?”

And Butters didn't.

*

When Nurse Christina returned later for bed check, she was surprised to see the two boys in bed together. Kenny had since passed out, and Butters had carefully positioned himself to avoid the IV while still holding Kenny's hand. The Nurse carefully took his vital signs, smiling at Butters. Then she took his. Butters was surprised that the thermometer went in his ear.

“You just stay right there, Buddy,” she told him.

“It's 'Butters', Miss!”

“You're so cute!” Nurse Christina told him, “Is he your boyfriend?” She offered him a sleeping pill, and Butters took it.

“I wish he was,” Butters sighed, “'cause you know? Well, I think he _needs_ somebody, real bad.” He sniffled. Nurse Christina tucked them in. “How's my mom, Miss?”

“Oh, she'll be fine, I think,” the nurse replied, “She's just taking a nap in the nurses' break room, poor dear.”

“She's in the mental ward, ain't she?” Butters came right out and asked, not buying it.

“Well...” the nurse fudged a bit, “Yes? I'm sorry!”

“Gosh, I hope she don't try to murder me again!” Butters sighed.

Nurse Christina just stared at him in shock. “What the hell kind of parents do they _have_ in this town?” She wondered, as she dimmed the lights and closed the door.

*

Kenny was dreaming.

Or, at least, he hoped that he was. He was wandering through a cemetery, but all the gravestones bore his name. The dates were all different, too. Everywhere he looked, he saw stones with his name on it. The day wasn't cold, but it wasn't summer either. Kenny noticed the purple flowers in the grass, and he thought it might be spring. He walked on, the toes of his yellow boots getting wet. It seemed that he was trudging uphill.

As he looked up, seeing how far he had to go, he saw a different kind of grave marker atop the hill. The sun broke through the thick clouds in one spot, shining down upon the white marble statue. Kenny saw that it was an angel, sculpted to resemble a boy.

He also saw the boy in the yellow poofball hat kneeling before the angel.

Kenny knew them both.

He read the inscription at the base of the gleaming angel's bare feet: AND THE ANGELS WEPT

Above that simple phrase were the words: Tweek Tweak, and the dates 2000-2016.

The boy in the yellow poofball hat was crying, his hands clutching two toy cars.

One was red, the other black.

“Craig?” Kenny asked, but Craig Tucker did not hear him. A cane befitting an elderly person lay in the grass on his right side.

Kenny reached out to touch him, but his hand passed right through Craig.

A shimmer of light followed from Kenny's hand, like a vapor trail.

“I...I'm so s-s-sorry, T-Tweeeeek,” Craig cried, carefully putting the toy cars back on the baseplate. His words were slow, labored, as if speaking were very difficult.

Kenny then watched in horror as Craig pulled a handgun from his pocket. He gripped it in his left hand, his right arm hanging by his other side.

“Craig, please! NO!” Kenny screamed, as Craig put the gun in his mouth.

But Craig couldn't hear him.

Kenny recognized it as a .44 Magnum.

Overhead, the clouds obscured the sun. The day grew dark. It began to rain.

_I like walking in the rain. No one can tell if you're crying._

And then the thunder.

*

Kenny bolted awake, screaming. He tried to jump up and run, but the searing pain in his side and head stopped him. He couldn't move his left leg, and something warm was holding him back.

He blinked, breathing hard, trying to figure out where he was.

Or when.

“Kenny?” Butters whimpered, “Bad dreams?”

Butters?

Kenny couldn't speak. All he could do was cling to Butters, trembling and sobbing, until the nurses arrived to see to him.

“Probably a bad reaction to one of the drugs, likely the sedative!”

“Gosh, I hope so!” A perplexed Butters worried.

“I killed him,” Kenny mumbled, “It's all my fault!”

“You didn't kill nobody, Ken?” Butters reminded him, “Remember?”

“Nightmares are a common side effect,” a nurse told them.

“Must'a been a doozy!” Butters observed.

“W-where's Tweek?” Kenny managed to ask.

“Well, golly, I'd _hope_ he's at school?” Butters replied.

Kenny looked at his own hand, where a tiny pinprick of light shone, for only him to see.

The sense of relief was so great that Kenny fainted.

“Well, gosh, Kenny!” Butters snorted, “At this rate, why, we're never gonna get outta here!”

*

Again, the future shifted.

The ruins of Sodosopa wavered and changed, from ruins to remodeled housing units. Right in the middle of them, the falling-down hovel of Kenny's house was replaced by a similar, yet largely improved, version of itself. The mailbox still read “McCormick”. All of the junk, including the stripped-down old station wagon, was gone.

Butters' house didn't change on the outside, but inside, the décor shifted. Steven Stotch vanished from the family portraits.

At the Colorado Penitentiary, Stuart McCormick never got the chance to find out that Steven was there, as Steven didn't last long. Neither did the other men, who'd been tracked down through connections made by Detective Yates through Steven's computer.

All over town, morning routines didn't change for the students. It was just another school day.

Except for one.

“I don't understand it, Laura,” Nurse Gollum was telling Laura Tucker, “Craig just seems to be getting worse. I'm beginning to think he might have had a mini-stroke in his sleep.”

“He's just lost without _him_ , now that his memory has started to come back,” Laura shook her head, “He told me the other day, that he just couldn't live without _him_. That he couldn't live with what he'd done.”

And in the cemetery, the sun still shone down upon the statue of the young angel.

 


	10. Visitors & Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: While still in the hospital, Kenny has more visions, and visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firkle's name is Georgie? Really?!  
> http://southpark.wikia.com/wiki/Firkle_Smith  
> Warnings: Fluff and Toilet Humor – literally. More Bunny. Some dark imagery in Kenny's visions, and in the recap of the altered Timeline at the end.  
> As I don't use much social media, you'll have to use your imagination for the chat/text bit.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 10**

**Visitors & Visions**

*

Warnings: Fluff and Toilet Humor – literally. More Bunny. Some dark imagery in Kenny's visions, and in the recap of the altered Timeline at the end.

*

The first thing that twelve year old Kenny McCormick saw when he awoke again was the smiling face of Leopold 'Butters' Stotch looking at him. He yawned, tried to stretch, and immediately realized that it was a bad idea. He sniffed, his eyes darting around the room. Butters felt him tense up, as if expecting an attack.

 _Butters? Oh, owww!_ Kenny grunted as he got his bearings.

“You OK now, Ken?” Butters asked, his voice shaky, “You uhm, well, you had a pretty bad nightmare, or somethin'?” Butters paused, but Kenny didn't immediately respond. He looked at Butters, confused. “I...I know how that is,” Butters went on, as Kenny realized that Butters was holding his hand. “I have some doozies, 'bout every night, yeah,” Butters blushed a bit. “Oh! Uhm, you, well, you said not to let go?” Butters offered, as their hands were joined atop the blanket. “Now, I'm real good at that, see? Remember that field trip to the pioneer village? Well, I never let go of Eric's hand all day!”

 _OK, Kenny and Craig? Well, that's a new one? OK, who still needs a partner?_ Kenny remembered Mr Garrison saying. How many lifetimes ago had that been?

“C-Craig,” Kenny mumbled, his voice raspy. Butters got him a cup of water and held the straw.

“Yeah, it was you and Craig that day,” Butters reminded him. “Why ya think Tweek didn't buddy with him, Ken?”

“I...I'm not sure,” Kenny replied, looking confused, his blue eyes unfocused.

The sound of a gunshot was still ringing in his ears, even if it had only been a bad dream. It had certainly felt real enough.

“I'm sorry,” Butters put the water cup back on the table, “You're not with it, yet, and here I am chatterin' at you. Bet your head hurts, huh? I'm sorry!”

“It's not that bad,” Kenny replied, thinking that if he had to stay in that hospital bed for another four years, until Time caught up with him (or he caught up with Time), then that would be just fine with him. He looked at Butters again, who looked like he'd not had enough sleep. Kenny imagined him staying up late, maybe even all night, just laying there and staring at him, holding his hand. Maybe staring at the muted TV. He felt a lump rising in his throat.

“Well, you must'a hit your head pretty hard, Ken,” Butters nodded, looking serious, “You said some pretty weird stuff while you were asleep. Stuff about a graveyard, an' Tweek and Craig, and how sorry you were? What did you do to them, Ken? Is something wrong?”

 _I can't lie to him, not again,_ Kenny thought, looking at that sincere, round, innocent face. “You...you wouldn't b-believe it,” Kenny sighed.

“Ken, it's South Park, OK?” Butters reminded him, “Whatever's buggin' you can't be any worse that Mecha-Streisand, or Scuzzlebutt, or aliens, or Tom Cruise!”

 _You're still here, you're still twelve!_ Kenny reminded himself.

 _And you just put Butters' dad in prison, and his mom in the loony bin!_ The Other reminded him, _What a way to treat a friend! What's next? Do we kill_ him _, too? How about trying to get Ike deported?_

“Be quiet!” Kenny blurted, realizing his error, as Butters gasped and pulled back. Still, he didn't let go of Kenny's hand. Butters' eyes filled. “No, no, Leo! Not you! I...I was talking to – _him_!”

Butters' eyes went wide. His jaw dropped. “Oh, golly! Do you hear a voice in your head, too? A voice telling you to do stuff?” Butters asked, looking terrified, but relieved at the same time.

Kenny nodded.

Then he realized what Butters meant.

“Professor Chaos?” Kenny asked, his voice soft.

“Y-yeah,” Butters whimpered, “When he comes, he just sorta -”

“Takes over?” Kenny interrupted. Again, Butters nodded. Kenny didn't know whether to feel sad or relieved. “You're not the only one, Leo.”

“Mysterion?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, d-don't tell no one!” Butters gasped, “Or they'll put us in those little padded rooms, in straitjackets!” Butters paused. “I bet they're warm, though?”

“Don't make me laugh!” Kenny gasped, but it was just too funny. It wasn't funny for his broken rib, though. Butters felt terrible, but Kenny waved him off. “So, why are you still here?” Kenny wondered.

“Well, I – I sorta don't have nowhere to go, Ken,” Butters explained, “Dad's in jail, and Mom's in the loony bin. I guess they'll put me in foster care.” Butters looked away.

Having been in foster care once himself, Kenny decided that he wasn't about to let that happen. He reached for Butters' phone and texted Kyle, once he'd convinced Butters to let go of his hand. Kyle called right back.

“We need a lawyer,” Kenny growled, as he remembered something else that made his skin crawl. “Before Butters' god-damned Grandma can get here!”

“Oh, hamburgers!” Butters squealed, “I forgot about HER!”

“ _I'll_ handle her,” Mysterion's voice replied through Kenny's mouth.

“Kenny, I am _really_ starting to worry about you,” Kyle said, over the phone, “And I think we need to talk!”

“Just get your dad on it, Kyle,” Kenny replied, his voice once again his own, “Butters needs somewhere to go, like a temporary guardian until his mom's better.”

“Speaking of going,” Nurse Christina cut in, as she entered with a couple of other nurses, “We've got to update your charts ,boys,” she smiled, “And see if you've -”

“I have to go!” Kenny hung up on Kyle.

“That's just it!” One of the other nurses, a pretty young brunette, smiled.

“Oh, aren't they cute together?” Another asked, as she took a photo of them.

“ _Go_? Where?” Butters wondered.

“To the bathroom, of course!” Nurse Christina held up a bedpan.

 _Could this possibly get any worse_? Kenny wondered.

“They're almost as cute as those other gay boys, what'r their names?” The brunette wondered, “The nervous little blond who comes to see Dr Norris, and that deadly-serious boyfriend of his?”

“Tweek and Craig!” The other nurse answered.

“Aren't they the cutest couple?”

“I know how they feel,” Kenny muttered, feeling himself blushing. Butters looked shocked.

“I think it's just wonderful that boys like you can feel safe coming out,” Nurse Christina went on, “Now, speaking of 'coming out'? Does it feel like anything _needs_ to come out?”

“Well, uhm, after that meat loaf last night, I think I could probably, you know?” Butters offered shyly, as one of the nurses helped him to the bathroom.

“Hey! You're not gonna stay and watch, are you, Lady? 'Cause, well, I can't go if someone's lookin'!”

“Just don't flush, Hon!” She reminded him.

Kenny, however, was presented with a bedpan.

“Are you kidding me?” Kenny gasped. Then again, he recalled how funny toilet humor could be. He remembered Terrance and Phillip, and the fact that he was twelve again. _I might as well enjoy it!_ Kenny told himself.

“OH MY GOD!” Nurse Christina almost screamed, as Kenny did as he was told. The meat loaf hadn't sat well with him, either.

“Terrance, I believe you fahhhrted!” Butters called from the bathroom.

“You ain't heard nothin' yet, Phillip!” Kenny called back.

“Well, we can't fault them for not doing as they're told,” Nurse Christina observed, filling in their charts for successful urination and bowel movements. She sprayed Lysol liberally about the room.

“Hoo, boy! That meat loaf was a killer,” Butters observed, as a nurse helped him back into bed with Kenny. They took more pictures. They asked if they could post them to the Nursing Group online.

“Go ahead,” Kenny rolled his eyes.

Moments later, and Butters' phone began to light up with social media notifications:

-Nurse Gollum likes this-  
Kyle: Get well soon! Will call later.  
Stan: So, are you guys a couple now?  
Jimmy: Adorable!  
-Jimmy Valmer likes this-  
Craig: Glad you found a boyfriend, 'cause you can't have mine!  
Clyde: So what do you call this? 'Bunny'?  
Tweek: GAHH!  
-Tweek Tweak likes this-  
-Craig Tucker likes this-  
-Tweek reshared this-  
-Craig reshared this-  
Eric: I always knew you guys were gay!  
Kyle: Shut up, Fat Ass!  
Eric: AY! Don't call me fat, you f'in Jew!  
PC Principal: ?!?!?!?!?!?!  
Clyde: Just ignore them, sir, they do that all the time.  
Token: Uhm...yeah, OK? Butters & Kenny?  
PC Principal: You bein' homophobic, Bro?  
Token: NO!  
Eric: FAGS! LOL  
COMMENT REPORTED  
COMMENT REPORTED  
COMMENT REPORTED  
COMMENT REPORTED  
COMMENT REPORTED  
PC Principal: And that's 2 weeks detention for you, Eric!  
-PC Principal likes this-  
-Strong Woman likes this-  
Clyde: Princess Kenny?  
Jason: Can Paladins get the Princess?  
-Jason White likes this-  
Eric: What happened, Kinny? Wife beat your ass?  
Big Gay Al: Oh, this is so cute!  
Michael: This is so hetero-non-conforming, I might smile.  
Henrietta: Love is a leech, sucking you up.  
Pete: Love is a vampire, drunk on your blood  
Firkle: Vampires? Really?  
Eric: Kinny isn't a princess!  
Mr Slave: Sure she is! You go, Girl!  
Scott: Yeah, but at least someone likes _him_.  
Eric: Fuck you, Scott! AND your diabetes!  
COMMENT REPORTED  
COMMENT REPORTED  
COMMENT REPORTED  
-President Garrison likes this-  
-V.P. C. Jenner likes this-

“Whoa, boy,” Butters sighed, scrolling on down the list of comments. He blushed again. “Ken, I didn't mean for this to -”

He was interrupted as Kenny leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“It's OK, Leo,” Kenny assured him. Still, he felt a bit uncomfortable. Kenny realized that while his body was twelve years old, his mind was nearly seventeen. He began to wonder if their budding relationship were even legal? Or moral?

 _What the hell am I doing?_ Kenny thought.

 _Probably trying to get Butters killed too,_ The Other answered, _Bad things tend to happen to people you care about!_

 _I didn't have anyone the first time around, and I'll be damned if I'm going to do that again!_ Kenny replied.

“I think we're goin' viral,” Butters mused, smiling that odd little smile of his. He commented back: Why do all the girls just write 'AWWW!' ?

Craig: You get used to it.  
Tweek: ARGH! They'll be drawing pictures of _you_ now!  
-Sara, Yuki,  & Niko like this-  
Tweek: SEE?! SEE?!  
Craig: Tweek, calm down, Babe  
PRIVATE MESSAGE – CRAIG: Karen is here with Tricia. Don't worry, Kenny.

Kenny and Butters entertained themselves with TV and social media until lunchtime. It was then that the flowers, cards, and other small gifts began showing up. Mr Lu Kim even visited, along with his wife, Wing. Mr Lu Kim had a black eye, but he did bring lunch. Butters was elated.

“Wing get very upset over all this,” Mr Lu Kim offered, “You get better, Dennis, I still pay you child labor wage for sick days, OK?”

Wing smacked him over the head with the flowers she'd brought.

“OK! OK! I pay you double!” They then began arguing in Chinese as they left.

“Gosh, it looks like we're famous, Ken?” Butters observed, until he scrolled down his page a bit further. He got quiet.

“What?” Kenny wondered, looking at his phone. His face went hard.

The comment next to an avatar of what looked like an eighty-year-old Madonna in her metallic goddess outfit from the late 1980's read: **So Captain Pussy's a faggot, huh? I figured as much**!

The comment was reported several dozen times.

“Grandma,” Butters shivered, even as PC Principal began ripping on her. When he ran out of characters, he'd simply start another post.

“Your grandma is a cosplayer?” Kenny wondered. He grabbed the phone. After installing a VPN client, he logged in as Mysterion.

Mysterion: Bring it on, Bitch! Any time!  
Queen Torpedo Tits: Who the hell are you? Captain Pussy's boyfriend?  
-Detective Yates like this-  
Mysterion: I'll be watching you, Lady!  
Detective Yates: So will I!

*

Later that afternoon, Kyle arrived with his father. Gerald looked concerned.

“Butters, Kyle is telling me that you don't want your grandmother taking care of you?” Gerald asked.

“Well, uhm, n-no, sir?” Butters mumbled.

“She's abusive,” Kenny said, his voice low, but still his own.

“But she's also listed as your legal guardian now,” Gerald told Butters, “Steven and Linda had that drawn up just after you were born.”

Kyle was staring at Kenny, who didn't fail to notice it.

“Butters can stay with me and my mom,” Kenny offered.

“Kenny, not to be rude, but your home is hardly a proper setting,” Gerald informed him, “You're lucky that _you're_ not back in foster care yet.”

“I know,” Kenny sighed, “But maybe with Dad gone, sir? After all, he was the cause of all the problems with my home life. With the abusive partner out of the picture, the other will normally alter their behaviour to -” Kenny paused, noting the shocked look that Kyle was giving him.

“Kenny, are you listening to yourself?” Kyle asked.

“It's a valid point, son,” Gerald disagreed.

“True, but that doesn't sound like Kenny talking,” Kyle pointed out.

“Well, I'll leave you boys alone to talk, I just wanted to drop Kyle off, and to let Butters know that he can stay with us, until his grandma arrives.” Gerald took his leave of them, “That much I can do.”

Once he was gone, Kyle got right to it. “All right, Kenny?” He demanded, “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got beat up! My dad tried to kill me, Kyle!”

“Not what I mean, and you know it!”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Kyle,” Kenny retorted, “Just because I decided to not act like a clod anymore, and to -”

“Bull shit,” Kyle cut him off, “Ever since the other day, when you choked on that grape, you've been different. You talk different, you even walk different! Your grades are up, AND you're being Mysterion again! I mean, shit, Kenny! LOOK AT YOU! You almost got yourself killed! You attacked two grown men, with a meth lab!”

Butters was looking perplexed. “Is...is this somethin' to do with me?” He asked shyly.

“NO! Gosh, no!” Kenny blurted, “I always liked you! I just never...I didn't think you'd...” He glared at Kyle again. “Seeing as how I'm the pervert, who drinks, smokes, runs around, the poor, dirty kid with a bad attitude? And a liar, a thief, and overall miscreant?” Kyle gaped at him. “I heard what your mom said about me, Kyle.”

Kenny just hoped he had the timing right. He wasn't sure when Sheila Broflovski had told Kyle that she'd had enough of Kenny, but Kenny was fairly sure that he was close.

“'Miscreant'? You taking law classes?” Kyle wondered, “We're twelve! We don't even know what a miscreant is!”

“And I never did anything to her, Kyle. I never took anything from your house, but for what you gave me,” Kenny reminded him.

Kyle looked down at his shoes. “I'm sorry. I didn't think...I hoped you couldn't hear her, when you were in the shower.”

Kenny felt that lump in his throat again. As he remembered it, from that point, he wouldn't set foot in Kyle's house again until he was sixteen. Until the night that Mysterion came to tell Kyle about the accident.

_Tweek's dead, Kyle!_

But of course, Kenny knew, there was no way that _this_ Kyle could know that.

 _And there's no way I'm going to let that happen again!_ Kenny thought.

“You really _liked_ me?” Butters wondered.

Kenny nodded, surprised to feel his face warming up. “But after that thing with Lexus from _**Raisins,**_ I figured you were straight. Then there was Charlotte, and that kinda-”

“Ended fast,” Kyle mumbled, looking away again.

“Yeah, well, when that thing with the trolls and Denmark was goin' on, we all learned about women, didn't we?” Butter sniffed.

“Buuuuutters?” Kyle sighed.

“Look, I know people don't think much of me,” Kenny offered, laying back on his pillow to stare at the ceiling, “But I'm not like that. I mean, yeah, I was kinda pervy, OK? There was Tammy, but that was a mistake.” _A mistake that got you dead from syphilis!_

“Well, I dunno much about bein' gay,” Butters offered, “Or bi. Just so long as nobody makes a big deal of it, like they did that one time! Uhm, 'cause I don't wanna go back to that stupid camp!” He took Kenny's hand again. “But I know that this feels good, and I think...well? You know, I think Kenny needs somebody!” Butters blurted, “And it might as well be me!”

Kenny thought about the Butters that he knew from four years in the future. That Butters was a loner. He didn't date. He didn't go to social functions. He drove a nice car, but he went home after school and stayed there. He'd had eye surgery. He was quiet and shy. His only diversion seemed to be the art department at school. As Kenny thought about it, he could honestly say that Future-Butters didn't really have any friends. He had acquaintances.

And he had no life.

Just like Future-Kyle.

“I can't let this happen again,” Kenny sighed, sniffling, cursing himself for feeling like crying again.

“Can't let _what_ happen again?” Kyle asked, but his tone was softer, “That's just like what you said about Ike! How do you know?” Kyle then began to look as if he might cry too. “How can you possibly know when – or if – Ike is going to forgive me for getting a million Canadians murdered?!”

“Yeah?” Butters added, “And I never told anybody about how mean Grandma is? Or that I hate her! And how, uhm, well, she's always tellin' me to stick up for myself, and bullying me, and all that...crap!” Butters seemed to realize something else. “I never told anyone she was Queen Torpedo Tits, neither!”

“Kenny? Are you spying on us?” Kyle then asked, “Have you been talking to Ike? Have you got Karen after him?” He glanced at Butters. “Your grandma bullies you?”

“Uhm, yeah,” Butters blushed. “She's always after me to stand up for myself.”

“I've...I've been having visions, dreams,” Kenny offered, which wasn't really a lie at all. “Ever since the Cthulhu thing, when BP Oil let him loose here, I've been seeing flashes of the future. Sometimes, they're so real that I think...I think I'm actually there!” Kenny started to shiver. He gripped Butters' hand tightly.

“So that's what those nightmares were?” Butters asked.

“Yeah,” Kenny answered.

“Is that part of why you don't hang out with us as much?” Kyle asked, “Or why you wanna hang out with Tweek and Craig now?”

Kyle's words literally hurt. Kenny wanted so badly to tell him the truth. He wanted to tell Kyle that he would be the first person that Kenny would tell, four years later, when Craig and Tweek had been in the accident. Would have the accident. Whatever! He wanted so badly to tell Kyle that for as isolated as he was going to become, that he would still risk his mother's wrath by welcoming Kenny into his home to comfort him. He wanted so badly to tell him that how he knew that Ike would forgive him.

But he couldn't. There was no way they'd believe him.

“Aw, shit, Kenny, I'm sorry!” Kyle then exclaimed, “It was about you coming out, wasn't it? You ignoring us?”

“Y-yeah, sort of,” Kenny agreed, amazed at his luck. He decided to go with it. “Because Tweek and Craig are...you know? They've been a couple, and...I guess – I guess they know how to do it?” Kenny fumbled, finding that he was actually embarrassing himself.

“Do...what?” Butters wondered.

“How to be out and proud of it,” Kyle headed _that_ one off!

“W-well, an' Craig's gonna help rebuild Kenny's bike?” Butters added shyly, “And Kenny got him a couple'a parts for his car, too!”

The car.

Red Racer.

Kenny shuddered at those two words. He'd been able to keep his mind otherwise occupied, what with taking care of Karen and such. Not to mention the sheer amazement of having rewound his life to the age of twelve again – the past four years, erased.

Or at least, altered.

Or so he hoped.

Kenny still didn't understand why he remembered the tragedy as he did. Still, Red Racer was far from road-worthy, and Craig and his dad were slowly tearing her down for restoration. If Kenny recalled correctly, Red Racer wouldn't even be started up again for another two years.

 _Craig and his dad,_ Kenny remembered, _And I'll be damned if I'm gonna ruin that time for Craig! He's got a dad who loves him._

“I'm sorry,” Kyle apologized, “I should have known it'd be rough. And I can only imagine Cartman's reaction?”

“He's already been on my page,” Butters held up his phone.

“That piece of shit,” Kyle snorted, reading the comments and flagging Cartman's.

“Yeah, he is,” Stan agreed, as he came in the door. He looked nervous, and the boys remembered that he didn't like hospitals at all. “I heard,” Stan offered, gesturing at the door. “Didn't mean to eavesdrop.” He shoved a bouquet of candy bars decorated with ribbons at the boys in the bed. “Geeez, it looks like a florist puked in here?”

“We're famous,” Butters nodded, “Thanks!”

“Look, I don't mean to be a dick, guys, but if you're just doing this for the-”

“Stan, DON'T!” Kyle warned him.

“We've been friends since nursery school, and you guys don't know me at all!” Kenny exclaimed. “My dad just tried to fucking kill me, OK? I was literally fighting for my life! Don't you get it? And if Leo hadn't showed up, I'd probably be dead now – because Stuart's god-damn meth was more important than his kids!” Kenny turned his head to stare at the opposite wall. “Did it ever occur to you, that maybe all I ever wanted was for someone to CARE about _me_?” He coughed, making his rib hurt all the more. “Did you ever stop to think, _you_ g-guys w-w-were all...all I had...t-to look f-forward to, ev-every day? M-my only r-reason to get outta b-bed?” He choked, wincing in pain.

Kenny started to cry again, hiding his face in his pillow.

_I fucking died for you guys! I died to save your lives in R'lyeh, and you don't even remember! God dammit, what do I have TO DO?!_

“Kenny?” A little girl's voice then asked, and the boys looked up to see Karen in the doorway. She was holding Tweek's hand, who was holding Tricia's hand in his other. Tricia was holding Craig's hand, in turn. “Kenny, whassa'matter? Why you cryin'?” Karen let go of Tweek's hand, and ran to her brother.

Kenny sat up, grabbing her in a hug. He didn't care about the pain anymore. He just held her and sobbed, which made Karen cry, too. God love Tricia Tucker, she'd made sure her best friend was safe.

_You make sure everyone knows that Karen McCormick is off limits!_

“How'd you guys get the girls in here?” Kyle whispered to Craig.

“Tweek swiped Dr Norris' access card, we used that special elevator,” Craig whispered back, “We planned it out. Tweek did, that is. He's really devious, you know?” Craig reached over, his hand finding Tweek's, without even looking.

“You come to Tweek's therapy sessions?” Stan wondered, “They allow that?”

“ _I'm_ therapeutic,” Craig declared proudly, “Doc Norris says so!”

“CRAIG! Shhhhh!” Tweek hissed.

“It's OK, Kenny!” Karen was saying, “Tricia's mom called Mommy, and she said I could come over and stay, 'til you get better!”

“Uncle Tweek got us donuts too!” Tricia piped up.

The boys all looked from Tricia to Tweek, then to Craig.

“NRGH!” Tweek twitched, and Craig blushed. It was a first.

“'Uncle Tweek', huh?” Stan laughed. Kyle punched his arm. “Dude? Ow? The fuck?”

“Be nice!” Kyle warned him.

“I WAS! Damn, Kyle! Lighten up!” Stan retorted.

 _Now they're bickering, that's about right,_ Kenny remembered.

“Kenny, what really happened to Daddy?” Karen asked. “Mommy said he jumped out a window? Why would he do that?”

“No, Karen, your Guardian Angel finally decided that it was time for him to go,” Kenny corrected her, “Before he could do to you, what he did to me!” He glanced at Butters, “But sometimes, even angels need help!”

“Ken?” Butters interrupted, blushing again, “I don't wanna... I mean... uhm, I think you better take it easy on that rib?”

“Why are you in the same bed?” Karen asked, “Are you his boyfriend now?” She asked Butters, who looked confused.

“Yeah, he is,” Kenny managed, clearly in pain, “For as long as he'll have me, I guess!”

They were interrupted by Nurse Christina, who had unfortunately pulled a double shift. “How did you all get in here?” She asked, but not unkindly.

“Uncle Tweek got us in!” Tricia answered.

“ARGH!” Tweek gasped, “No! It wasn't like that at all!”

“Like what?” Nurse Christina wondered, pinching Tweek's cheek. “GIRLS!” She called to the nurses' station, “Look! It's Tweek and Craig!”

Tweek looked as if he might just bolt at any moment, but Craig held onto him.

“C'mon, Tricia,” Craig then spoke up, “Karen? Let's let Kenny get some rest, OK?”

“You stay with Craig and Tricia, until I get outta here, or 'til their mom and dad think it's OK to go home,” Kenny told Karen. Kenny hugged her goodbye, and kissed her cheek. He glanced at Craig, who glanced at Tweek.

_...fatality confirmed...passenger ejected..._

_Tell him about the damn car!_ The Other urged Kenny, but the pain in his side was so bad that he hardly heard it.

 _I'm not ruining what they had for the coming four years!_ Kenny thought.

 _Yeah, that sure ended with a bang,_ The Other scoffed.

“Uh, we should probably go?” Kyle suggested.

“Yeah, let us know when you're getting outta here, Dude!” Stan added, as the others took their leave.

It took all the nerve that Kenny could muster to hold himself together as Craig and Tweek wished him well. After all, from Kenny's perspective, these weren't the friends that he knew. He would have to get to know them again.

From his perspective, Tweek was dead.

And from his nightmares, so was Craig. Now. Then. Whatever?

Kenny wanted to scream, to grab Tweek's hand and shake it, and then to never let go of it until he was sure that the statue of the weeping angel was gone from his future. He wanted to yell at them, to never drive that car on Route 285.

He drew in a painful breath as he took Tweek's hand, noting how steady it was as Tweek stood by Craig.

The room suddenly vanished. The temperature dropped, and it got dark. Kenny found himself standing on a bloodied stretch of deserted highway, staring at the short skid marks, and then walking forward some steps to stare down at the curved acceleration marks. He noted how much rubber had burned off the tires. He stared at where the marks ended.

“C-Craig said th-there were f-f-four lights,” Jimmy had explained, several times in fact, on Future-Craig's first day back at school, “It's...it's all he r-re-remembers!”

“The frame's only bent by less that .1 degrees, on the driver's side,” Clyde had noted in Auto Shop.

Speed.

Speed? Would Craig have been speeding? He must have been terrified of getting a ticket, though. He already had one unsafe start ticket at age sixteen. But on Route 285? “No, he'd have been _maybe_ five over the speed limit,” Kenny told himself, “Thomas would have taken the car, if Craig had got it for felony speeding!”

Kenny studied the black marks, realizing that this was only a vision.

A vision triggered by touching Tweek's hand.

And the skid marks were too short. Too weak. Locking the performance brakes at high speeds would have damaged the tires far more, and left more residue on the pavement.

“Just a couple more yards, a little more thrust from the motor,” Kenny thought, staring at the spot where the burn-out marks ended. “Tires with a bit more grip?”

 _No indecision,_ The Other suggested, _That split-second of braking is what did them in! If he hadn't braked, the J-whip maneuver would have succeeded!_

And Kenny knew that he was right. If Craig had slammed the gas instead of the break, in that one tiny moment of indecision, then they might have made it. The split-second was all that the ungodly large carburetor needed.

Kenny remembered the HEI plugs and coil pack.

“Kenny?” Someone whispered, as if their voice were carried by on the cold wind, “Kenny?”

Kenny turned to see a bloodied arm at the road's shoulder, reaching out of the frozen, dead grass. A pale, white hand open in supplication, as if reaching out to him. He dared not look further.

But the hand was open, beckoning to him.

“KENNY!”

“Ugh! What?!” Kenny gasped, staring up from his bed at Tweek and Craig and the girls.

“You blipped out,” Craig told him, “You OK?”

“Probably the d-drugs! Nrgh!” Tweek squeaked, “Dr Norris gave me Thorazine once, and it turned me into a zombie!”

“Yeah, uhm, thanks for comin' by, fellas!” Butters offered. “Well, maybe we better let Kenny get a...get a afternoon nap, maybe?”

“Good idea,” Craig agreed, as he and Tweek led the girls out.

Stan then poked his head back in the door. “Guys? I didn't mean to say that -”

“I know,” Kenny interrupted, and Butters nodded.

“You want the nurse?” Stan asked.

“Please,” Kenny groaned.

When Nurse Christina came back, she made Kenny as comfortable as she could. “I'm afraid to give you anything, after that least episode, Kenny!”

“It wasn't the meds,” Kenny groaned, “Trust me,” he added, gripping Butters' hand.

“Well, Butters, you're supposed to be discharged later this afternoon,” the nurse paused, noting their clenched hands. “But it might not hurt to hold you one more night for observation?”

*

Some years later, farther into the future that Kenny had left 'behind', snow began to fall over the town. Christmas decorations were going up, and the _**South Park Family Crisis Center**_ was decorated with poinsettias and small potted fir trees. The Center was bustling with activity, but fortunately, not everyone was in crisis at this town social. Enough were, however, as the approach of Christmas did not bring out the best in everyone. For some, it was the most horrible time of the year, and counselors were on hand for those that needed them.

“I don't like Butters to be out driving in the snow,” Linda Stotch was saying.

“He'll be fine, Hon,” Carol McCormick assured her, “I just wish Kenny could have seen all this.”

“There's been no word?” Linda asked.

Carol shook her head. “They closed the investigation. They never found a trace of a body, though.” She sighed, “Not after the auto shop exploded.”

“Never give up,” Laura Tucker sighed, as she made herself a cup of hot tea at the refreshments table. “I'm surprised to see you here, Carol?”

“Well, now that I've got the new _**Olive Garden**_ up and running in Conifer, I was able to get some vacation time,” Carol explained, “Restaurants aren't really retail, you know.”

“I don't know how you keep up with both places!” Linda smiled, “If not for the boys' help?”

“Kevin's been a great help, after...after they ruled it as self-defense,” Carol nodded, “and he finally got his act together, with Stuart outta the way, that is.”

“Hello, Laura,” another lady's soft voice then said.

“Helen?” Laura Tucker seemed surprised, “I'm...I'm glad you came!”

“Oh – my – God!” Carol gasped, as she and Linda watched, and wondered.

“It's been months since they've even spoken!” Linda agreed.

“May I?” Helen asked, as Laura handed her the tea. “I haven't been able to even look at coffee, since...” She paused, covering her mouth with her free hand. “I'm sorry!” She mumbled, her face going red. “I shouldn't have come!” She cried, causing several people to look up.

Helen Tweak turned abruptly to leave, but Laura caught her by the shoulder. Helen faced her, seeing what could have been a mirror of her own distraught expression.

“I never blamed _either_ of the boys, _or_ you, Helen,” Laura said softly. “I wanted to call, but I...I didn't know what to say. I'm sorry.”

Helen nodded. “After Craig...died,” Helen chose the word carefully, “I felt like I'd...” she smiled a sad smile, her free hand giving a tiny flick of dismissal. “Never mind! It's silly.” She pulled a handkerchief and dabbed at her face, sniffling.

“I felt like I'd lost _two_ sons,” Laura assured her, taking a reluctant Helen in hand. Helen could only nod, clutching the handkerchief to her mouth.

“Mom, Karen says this is for the punch?” Tricia Tucker asked, as she walked up with a bag of Sprite two liter bottles.

“Tricia, you remember Helen?” Laura asked.

“Uncle Tweek's mom?” Tricia exclaimed, smiling at Helen.

“Oh, Laura!” Helen burst into tears, as the women embraced.

“Honey, why don't you run along and find Karen, and maybe that nice dipper for the punch bowl?” Carol asked of Tricia, as the ladies all retired to a secluded table with their tea.

“I think it would have been easier on Butters, if Kenny hadn't just vanished,” Linda was saying, “He just sort of shut down, after the lightning strike.”

“You think they thought we wouldn't have accepted them?” Carol wondered, “I mean, Kenny never mentioned...” her voice trailed off.

“Maybe not, but a mother knows,” Helen sniffled.

*

At another table, two boys and their parents sat chatting with a tall man wearing Oakley sunglasses. Perhaps eleven or twelve, if that, the boys both had jet black hair. One wore a baby blue hoodie with a clashing green ushanka hat. The other boy wore a rainbow-patterned jacket. Their parents were looking quite uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“Mr and Mrs Smith, Mr and Mrs Broflovski, Ike, Georgie,” PC Principal was greeting them.

“'Firkle', please, sir?” the darker boy asked.

“You all know why you were invited here?” PC Principal asked.

“Because our boys are gay!” Sheila Broflovski exclaimed.

“So? What's wrong with them bein' gay?” PC Principal retorted. He waited. “So, it's cool if it's someone else's child, but not if its your own? Didn't I see you at the Yaoi Art Fair, Mrs Broflovski?”

Sheila blushed a bit. “Well, that was different,” she rolled her eyes.

“Look, I didn't mean to convey the idea that -” Mr Smith began.

“Yeah, Dad, you _did_ ,” Firkle sighed, “All you _do_ is convey it!”

“You know, you four are about to make me lose my PC,” PC Principal warned them. “I've spoken with Counselor Mackie, and I've talked to the boys already. The problem isn't Georgie – sorry, Firkle, if you prefer – and Ike, people! It's YOU!”

“That...that...CANADIAN kissed Georgie goodbye the other night!” Mrs Smith exclaimed, looking put off, “Right on the _mouth_!”

“Oh, hell! A gay Canadian boy! Racist much? So what do we do, start _another_ fuckin' war?” PC Principal asked. “So would it be OK if Ike were British, or Australian, then? Maybe German? What would you prefer? Japanese?”

They didn't answer him.

PC Principal glared at the Broflovskis. “And you two were just about the last people I'd have expected this from! What's the problem, Bro?” He demanded of Gerald.

“I'll _tell_ you the problem!” Sheila spoke up.

“Geeesh, Mom, _shut_ up!” Ike complained. “He didn't ask YOU! And my _brother_ didn't start that last war! The _President_ did!”

“Never accused Kyle of that, myself, little Bro,” PC Principal assured him. He turned back to the Smiths. “Do you two realize that you're undermining all the progress that Ike's helped Firkle make?”

“ _What_ progress?” Mr Smith demanded.

“Oh, I dunno? How about his grades going up, along with his school attendance? How about the fact that he wears colors now, and he actually talks to people about something other than hopelessness and death? OH, and how about the fact that he _came out_?” PC Principal explained. He looked at the boys, who were looking at the floor. “Which isn't going to last long, if he's living in a toxic environment.”

“Are you suggesting that our home is toxic, too?” Gerald asked, “Because we never had an issue with-”

“You've got nothing BUT issues, Dad!” Ike cut him off, “And if it's not me being gay, what is it, then? _George_? You don't like my choice of boyfriend? How about Fillmore, would HE be OK with you?”

“Oh, so _he_ can call you by your real name?” Mrs Smith asked her son, jerking a thumb at Ike. “And put your hands up where we can see them!”

The boys did that.

George's hand firmly clasped Ike's.

PC Principal stared at those small hands for an awkwardly long time, their sleeves making him think of a rainbow across a cleared, blue sky.

He then cleared his throat. “Let me tell you all a story about two boys named Craig and Tweek,” he began.

*

Outside of town, snow continued to fall over the quiet cemetery. It covered the seeds of the long-dead violets that had once bloomed there, where they would patiently await the arrival of spring. Had anyone been there to see it, they might have thought the scene beautiful. The reddish cast of the security light gave the snowflakes a sparkle as they fell, creating the illusion of little shimmering rainbows from certain angles.

The snow covered the gravestones, as well as the dark blue Impala SS that was parked in the shadow of the service shed. The driver didn't see the beauty of the gently falling snow, though. His eyes were fixed upon the forms of two white marble statues: a weeping angel, and the standing boy who sought to comfort him. The security light lit them in palest pink, but to the teenage boy in the car, it looked like blood.

To the side of the statues, an empty plot already lay covered by a few inches of snow.

He imagined another statue there, for only a moment, then changed his mind. His imagination settled upon a plain marble gravestone. Perhaps with the inscription, “Sleep well, little child, the Lord holds thee now.”

But there was no marker.

There had been no body to bury.

The boy didn't look up as the lights from a white Ford truck swung around, coming up the lane. Headlamps, fog lamps, and roll bar lights made the cemetery bright as day. But in the lee of the shed, the Impala was invisible. The boy watched as the truck stopped, illuminating the statues against the black of the sky.

Without shutting the engine off, another boy got out of the truck and trudged up to the statues. He brushed off the snow from the ledge, wiping clean two small toy cars. He placed a clear plastic cover over them, added something, then fell to his knees in the snow and wept.

He remained there until the snow had begun to pile up on his black knit cap.

He was, probably, the last person who should have been out driving around Colorado on a snowy winter's night. He was very overweight, and he limped when he walked, as if both of his legs hurt. He coughed, which wasn't helped by the cigarettes he smoked before the first boy finally decided to get out of the Impala and go to him. He left the door open, so as not to disturb the night by slamming it. He watched as the boy pulled his cap off, shaking off the snow, revealing his bald head for only a moment before pulling the cap back on. Snow piled up on the shoulders of his ill-fitting _**South Park High**_ letter jacket, but he made no effort to brush it off.

Moving up quietly behind him, the blond boy in the teal jacket noticed what his friend had done: next to the toy red Corvette and the black Lincoln sat a toy white Ford truck.

And Butters Stotch knew.

Perhaps, if his tears hadn't all dried up and turned to dust long ago, he would have wept, too.

Perhaps, if he'd arrived sooner and looked in the shed, he might have found the boy in the brown coat with a red poofball hat. He might even have stopped the boy from putting the green whiskey bottle in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

But he'd arrived later.

Much later.

“Hey, Butters,” Clyde Donovan mumbled, without looking up.

“Hey, Clyde,” Butters whispered in reply. “How you feelin', Buddy?”

“I'm dying, Butters,” Clyde replied, without emotion.

“I know,” Butters whispered back, close enough for his breath to warm Clyde's cheek.

“Doctors said I ate myself to death,” Clyde muttered, “Poor diet, no exercise. It's in my bones now.”

“I'm sorry, Clyde.”

“It was the only thing that made me feel better, though.”

“Least you _felt_.”

“You think I'll see _them_ , Butters?” Clyde wondered, sounding like a lost child.

“I hope so,” Butters answered, his voice flat and even.

“There was blood on the ground, when I came – after he...he did it,” Clyde cried, covering his face with numb hands. He shivered, and Butters brushed the snow from his shaking shoulders.

“He said he just couldn't live with it,” Butters nodded, watching as the snow covered the toy cars.

“Butters?” Clyde asked, as something caught his attention and he looked up.

“Yeah?”

“We don't get auroras in Colorado, right?”

“Nope.”

“Then what's that?” Clyde pointed up, and Butters looked.

The snow clouds were being torn apart by a miasma of multi-colored light that seemed to be rising up in the west. It was as if the sun had changed its mind, and were coming back again with a vengeance. The blackness fled before it, the trailing edge consumed by the glory of the exploding colors for which neither boy had names.

The boys thought they heard voices on the cold wind, whispering, offering words of comfort where they were, otherwise, none.

“Nukes?” Clyde gasped.

“I don't think so,” Butters breathed the words in wonder, as his frozen ears were just barely able to make out the sound of a voice he'd never thought to hear again.

And that ghostly voice called out one word: “Leo!”

Clyde reached for Butters' hand, and Butters did the same as the all-consuming firestorm of glory flooded over them.

And then they were all three gone, as were the car and truck.

The cemetery was empty, as was the service shed. Snow continued to fall, covering the one lonely statue of a weeping angel. At his bare feet sat two toy cars, and the boy in the yellow poofball hat brushed them off and carefully covered them with a clear plastic shell.

He got up with some difficulty, leaning heavily on his cane as he limped back to the waiting VW Jetta. He smiled a crooked smile as the boy in the red poofball hat opened the door for him.

“Th-thank yooooou, S-Stannn,” he seemed to force the words out, as he collapsed into the passenger seat.

Kyle carefully backed the car up, then turned around to slide down the lane to the road, stopping just in time for the intersection.

“K-Kyle, wwwhy did m-my fweind die?” Craig asked.

“He was sick for a long time, Craig, before you had your stroke. Remember?”

“No,” Craig Tucker said plainly, one of the few words he _could_ say without effort.

“That's OK, Craig,” Stan patted his shoulder, “You wanna go watch Clyde at basketball practice now? With us, and Token, and Jimmy, and Butters?”

“YES!” Craig smiled.

 


	11. Kyle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are beginning to get suspicious of Kenny. Kyle and Butters compare notes, then decided to put their theory to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a break from this until Christmas is past. I'll be back after then!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 11**

**Kyle**

*

Warnings: Fluff, violence, angst, Creek, and Bunny. The usual stuff. And some of it's kinda gay!

Recap: **SPOILERS**! If you're silly enough to dive in at chapter 11, you deserve it!  
After a suspicious accident kills sixteen year old Tweek Tweak and severely injures Craig Tucker, Kenny McCormick finds that he can't bear to keep repeating Craig's first day back at high school – over and over again. And despite being an Immortal, Kenny knows that he can't reincarnate far enough back in time to prevent the accident. Finally, in a desperate bid to end it all, Kenny commits suicide. Again. Sitting in the wreckage of Craig's car. But unfortunately (perhaps?) for Kenny, a lightning strike at the moment he dies sends his disembodied Consciousness back in time to when he was twelve years old. Realizing that he now has four years to prevent the accident, Kenny begins changing things, in order to change the future that he has left 'behind'. Some of the changes aren't planned, however, and not all of them turn out for the better.  
Has the butterfly that is Kenny McCormick, spreading his wings in the past, caused a hurricane to strike the future?

* **o'Oo'0'oO'o** *

Thunder rumbled in the distance as rain poured down on the awning over the patient pick-up point at Hell's Pass Hospital. The sky was gray, and fog was beginning to rise from the melting snowbanks as the random warm front moved through. It wasn't as if it were unusual; the weather was prone to do that in Colorado. Sunny and 70F/21C one day, and then cold and snowing the next. The snow might linger for a few days, then melt. Or stay.

Most of the time, it stayed.

Which was exactly what Butters wanted to do – stay.

To Butters Stotch, the rain sounded like uncountable gunshots.

“But why can't I stay _here_ with Kenny?” Butters begged, as an orderly pushed him in a wheelchair to the curb where a VW Jetta sat waiting. Gerald Broflovski, along with Kyle and Stan, followed along. The boys helped Butters up, although he didn't really need it. A padded plastic walking cast encased his lower leg, with a curved bottom attachment to make sure that he didn't put weight on it. Kyle handed Butters a set of crutches as Stan held the car door open.

“Now, Butters,” Gerald reminded him, “We've talked about this, OK? It's not a hotel, and they're holding Kenny for more scans and observation.”

“I think it was the meds,” Stan offered, exchanging a serious look with Kyle.

“It's not uncommon for a lot of kids your age to sort of...freak out, yes,” The orderly agreed, “But the doctors want to be sure.”

“Yeah, probably the sedatives,” Kyle agreed, but the tone of his voice made Butters glare at him. Butters almost fell over, and Stan caught him.

“You all think he's NUTS!” Butters accused them.

“Now, Butters,” Nurse Christina assured him, as she came over from the receiving desk to join them, “Kenny hit his head. Just because he only needed two stitches, doesn't mean that he doesn't have more neurological trauma going on in there. It's just a couple of days, a few more CT scans, EEG's, some MRI's, and a talk with Dr Norris. OK?”

“The shrink,” Butters snorted, plopping himself down in the back seat. Kyle put his crutches in the trunk.

“He's got your phone, and we got him a charger from the gift shop,” Nurse Christina reminded him, “When he's up to it, I'm sure he'll call one of you to talk. You remember to take your medicine, Butters,” she then double-checked the list that the orderly gave her.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Butters sighed in resignation. “I guess, well, I bet my hamsters need me! It's been days!”

“Craig's been babysitting your hamsters,” Kyle told him, “Cartman showed him how to sneak into your room.”

“Yeah, for five bucks,” Stan sniffed, “That fat piece of crap doesn't know how to do anything, just to be nice.”

But Butters wasn't listening as the boys talked about Cartman, the hamsters, or anything else. His mind was on Kenny.

Over the last couple of days, Kenny had awakened from normal sleep with screaming nightmares. Even sedated, he mumbled and fidgeted and talked in his sleep. On several occasions, Butters had caught him 'zoned out', staring at the TV or the phone, his eyes blank and unfocused. But the worst part had been the things he'd been screaming about, or simply mentioning out of context in conversations. The worst of the things that Kenny had said seemed to involve Craig, Tweek, Stan, and Clyde.

But Butters hadn't mentioned this to anyone. So far, only he and the nurses (and Dr Norris) knew about it. And even Butters had noticed a pattern to Kenny's ravings, which Kenny didn't seem to remember saying when he 'came out of it'.

Or, Butters believed, that Kenny didn't _want_ them to think that he remembered.

“I should just torch that damn car.”  
“It's a hopeless pile of junk now.”  
“They can't fix it. It's totaled out, Clyde.”  
“It's four years. Let them have that.”  
“He'll get better. He's already better.”  
“So long as they stay together.”  
“So long as he doesn't hit the brakes.”  
“Keep him off of Route 285.”  
“He's got a bottle hidden in his sock drawer.”  
“Kyle doesn't know.”  
“He'll pass out at the cemetery, and freeze to death.”  
“He can't have cancer one time, then not, then have it and die again!”

That last one had confused Butters to no end. As far as he knew, they didn't know anyone who had cancer. He suspected that the bit with “a bottle” was for Stan, as they all knew to keep an eye on their friend for his addiction tendencies. The worst things involved Tweek and Craig, though.

“I know the day. I know the highway.”  
“Jimmy says that he said there were four lights.”  
“Not that model of truck!”  
“More speed. Adjust the carb. Sabotage the turbo waste gate?”  
“Over-boost?”

Indeed, the boys had all entered that phase where cars were cool. All of them were reading car magazines, and Butters knew what a turbocharger was and how one worked. All of the boys did. If a waste gate didn't work right, and stuck open, the turbo couldn't spin as hard, and didn't deliver enough power. But if it didn't open far enough, an over-boost could take place. The result was a burst of power, and usually, a scattered engine a few seconds later.

“A few seconds. A few yards. That's all they need!”  
“The passenger side took the worst of it.”  
“...confirmed fatality...”  
“We tried so hard!”  
“Then we have to try again!”

And often, Kenny would cry. Then he'd come to, and wonder why.

But the worst of it, Butters was still trying to piece together. Some of the things that Kenny seemed terrified of didn't make much sense. Still, Butters had heard enough to realize that someone either had, or was going to, die.

Or so Kenny thought. After all, having a parent try to kill you was a bit jarring. Butters knew that. He'd even admitted to it himself. Maybe Kenny had just cracked up, as Butters almost had?

“We all miss him, but if you keep eating like this and smoking, you'll die!”  
“I lost two friends, not one!”  
“And you're about to make it three!”  
“For Butters, it'll be four! You think he can handle that?”

Butters tried to imagine losing four of his friends. Was that what Kenny was seeing? Who was he talking to in his sleep? He shivered. He didn't think he could handle losing one.

He'd already nearly lost one.

 _I bet he's talking to Mysterion,_ Butters reasoned, knowing full well how those conversations with “yourself” could go. Sometimes, when Professor Chaos came, there was simply no reasoning with him.

But the worst ones of Kenny's episodes, the repeating nightmares (or whatever they were) chilled Butters to even think about them.

“He said the cancer's back. It's inoperable this time.”  
“It's all the chemicals and artificial crap in junk food, Clyde!”  
“It's in his other testicle, colon, bladder, and bones.”  
“Craig, don't do this!”  
“Put the gun down, Craig!”  
“The damn statue is still there! WHY is STILL there?!”  
“Oh, God! He's even worse than before!”  
“Oh, Jesus, NO! CRAIG!”

That was where Kenny usually woke up screaming, literally out of his mind with fear, and holding onto Butters so tightly that it made Butters' ribs hurt.

But the one that Butters couldn't put out of his mind was:  
“Tweek's dead.”  
And the pause. Always the same pause.  
It was as if Kenny were waiting for someone, that only he could hear, to answer.  
“He never knew what hit him, Kyle.”

So Kenny was talking to Kyle in one the nightmares. Butters had called Kyle while Kenny slept, but Kyle didn't know a thing about it. And Tweek certainly wasn't dead!

It hadn't been hard for Butters to figure out the part about the bottle. Everyone knew that Stan had the same problems as his father. After the incident when he'd turned ten, and they'd thought that Stan had Asperger's Syndrome, Stan had started drinking. In fact, he'd even shown up drunk off his ass at Cartman's burger stand, ranting about AI's and aliens and rock people.

And things just hadn't been the same between Stan and Kyle since. Mr Mackie had done enough classes on drugs and alcohol for all the boys to know that when you got drunk, your inhibitions went right out the window. What you really believed was usually the first thing to come out of your mouth.

“You're a piece of shit, Kyle!” - “Kyle? I love you!”

It didn't surprise Butters that Stan was hiding liquor in his sock drawer. The thing was, Kenny seemed to think that no one else knew. But more than once, Butters had smelled it on Stan's breath. He was sure that Kyle had, too. He'd interrupted a few conversations between them, even. Kyle berating Stan, Stan on the verge of tears, and the same promises that he'd cut down. He'd stop. No, Kyle knew. Butters figured that if he knew, and somehow Kenny knew, then everyone knew.

As for Clyde, and the bit about cancer, that one hadn't been hard to figure out. When Butters had put those bits together, he'd mentioned it to Nurse Christina when Kenny had been sleeping. He'd made the comment that his friend Clyde seemed OK to him, and he was always so happy to miss a day of school for his checkups.

And the nurse had inadvertently confirmed it. Butters had offered the bait, in a very Professor Chaos-like manner, if he did say so himself. And she'd taken it. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Well, yes, Clyde made a remarkable recovery! I remember he was so cute, with that perfectly round head of his, when his hair fell out! He had the nicest little knit cap, and his mom stayed here with him, when he wasn't at Denver. I know he was pretty upset with the colostomy, but what child wouldn't be?” And Butters had told her about the mystery of the urinal deuce. Nurse Christina had laughed until she had the hiccups. “Clyde confessed to taking a dump in the urinal?” She found it utterly hilarious. “I wish I could have seen the look on the Counselor's face, when he found out that Clyde had the colostomy, and _couldn't_ have done it!”

And still more bait, as if Clyde had already told them all – which he hadn't. The nurse had confirmed the rumors to be true.

“Yes, they took one of his testicles out. That's where it started, I think. He was lucky, in that they only had to remove about a quarter of his colon as well. A boy can do just fine with only one testicle; that's why you have two. Like two kidneys, two lungs, more heart capacity that you really need, such long entrails, and the like. In fact, I remember when Clyde had the colostomy reversed sometime not long ago, once he was older and had more to work with. The Mederma even got rid of a lot of the scarring.”

This much, Butters had confirmed in the showers at school, and during his “Wieners Out” protests. Clyde had the scar, and he no longer had the colostomy.

It was the bits about Tweek and Craig that were a mystery, and very upsetting. He'd stayed up all night thinking about it, wishing that he knew the boys just a bit better. Of course, everyone knew about Red Racer, the old Corvette that Craig and his dad were restoring. Kenny had discovered it in the Weatherheads' barn, when he'd been in foster care. After that debacle, Mr Weatherhead had sold it to Mr Tucker for nearly nothing, as it was in such bad shape. Mr Weatherhead certainly needed the money to pay his legal fees, as he was looking at a long time in prison for child abuse.

And Craig had proudly shown it off to everyone. He was even teaching Tweek to be a mechanic, the boys spending a lot of time together, taking the car apart, making plans for what it would be someday.

“It's like the Sir Mix-a-Lot song, Tweek,” Craig had once said, “'She's sweat, wet, got it goin' like a turbo 'Vette!' I wanna put a Borg-Warner aftermarket turbocharger on it!”

But the bit about the gun? Route 285?

And Tweek being dead?

The best that Butters could come up with was that somehow, Kenny had it in his mind that Tweek was going to die on Route 285. And four years? Four years would make them sixteen. They'd all be driving by then. Would Craig have Red Racer done by then?

And was Tweek going to die in that car?

Kenny seemed to think so.

But what about the gun?

The more Butters thought about it, and the more he thought about Tweek and Craig, the darker his conclusions grew. If Kenny were having nightmares about Tweek dying, then Craig wasn't shooting Tweek.

Craig was committing suicide.

At least, in Kenny's nightmares he was.

“But why would he think that?” Butters thought, not realizing he'd said it aloud, as he listened to the windshield wipers... slap-slap-slap...

“That's what Dr Norris wants to try and figure out,” Gerald spoke up.

“HUH?!” Butters gasped.

“Dude, you've been zoned out,” Stan told him.

“He'll be OK, Butters. And it's fine, really. Don't worry about it.”

“W-worried? About what, Kyle?” Butters asked shyly.

“You can have my bed,” Kyle explained, missing it, “until Dad figures out what's going to happen. It's no problem, Butters. No one uses the couch in the living room, anyway.”

“I think he's more worried about Kenny?” Stan mused. “We all are.”

“Yeah,” Butters sighed.

“And if Cartman gives you any shit about you and Kenny,” Kyle began, but his father interrupted.

“Language, Kyle!”

“Dudes, it's cool,” Stan shrugged, “Look at Tweek and Craig? No one cares if you're gay, Butters, so don't worry about it. I mean, yeah, we care – about you! Not that you're gay!” Stan fumbled.

“I think he gets it, Stan,” Kyle said, sounding a bit exasperated.

“OK, geeze, lighten up, Kyle!” Stan retorted.

And there it was again. Butters could see it, and glancing up at the rear view mirror, he could tell that Mr Broflovski could see it, too. The tension between Stan and Kyle was almost tangible, like the old cliché, that you could cut it with a knife.

They drove on. It seemed an awfully long trip, to Butters, from the hospital to Kyle's house. Everything just looked so gray and dreary. It was still raining as they pulled up, and Kyle held an umbrella over Butters as Stan helped him up. Butters hobbled up the walk, then froze as the door opened.

The Broflovski living room was full of his friends, and it looked like Mrs Broflovski was throwing a party. Butters cringed inwardly; the last thing he wanted was a crowd.

He looked around and saw Craig, Tweek, Token, Clyde, Jimmy, Timmy, Scott, David, Nichole, Lisa, Bebe, Wendy, and even Cartman. Most of the kids from their sixth grade class last year. It seemed that the only one missing was Kenny.

Still, it was a festive atmosphere, and being the kind of boy that he was, Butters didn't want to spoil it for anyone. He put on a 'happy face', and just went with it. There was plenty of food, too, and as Butters was feeling hungry (and glad to be away from hospital food), he sat and ate and just listened to everyone else. Between bites, he told them what he knew about the attack. Those who knew who Professor Chaos was just smiled. Yet no one made fun of him; they just listened.

He also had to listen to Cartman, who seemed to find the whole ordeal funny. As usual, Cartman seemed totally oblivious to the disgusted looks he was getting. Not to mention the reactions to the hurtful things he was saying.

“I still can't believe it!” He laughed, “Kinny's dad tried to kill him! Fuckin' poor people, huh?”

“Which explains the Menendez brothers, then?” Token smirked at him.

“Who cares about Mexicans?” Cartman snorted, now on his second piece of cake. No one was surprised that he missed the reference, and Token had to explain it.

“Rich Mexicans?” Cartman laughed.

“They _weren't_ Mexicans! They're Latinos!” David Rodriguez informed him, “Token means that it's not only poor people who freak out sometimes! And why do you think it's funny that Kenny's family is poor?”

“Because it's fuckin' hilarious, the shit they do, DAY-vid!” Cartman retorted, sliding his empty plate over at David and staring at him as if he expected David to clean it up, and intentionally mispronouncing his name.

“Wasn't so hilarious when Kenny was gone, and you were the poor kid, was it?” Craig reminded him.

“Shut up, Craig!” Cartman exclaimed, “Not like everyone can afford to have a Corvette in their garage!”

“I can,” Craig shrugged.

“Dad says he's making me take the old Lexus, I mean, the one he's gonna get in a couple of years. It'll be old when I'm sixteen, but I'd rather have a Rover,” Token put in, just to rankle Cartman. It worked.

“I want a Mustang,” Scott Malkinson spoke up.

“You can't have a Mustang!” Cartman told him, “They don't let diabetics drive!”

“They do too!” Scott retorted, satisfied with the reading on his blood glucose meter as he carefully filled his plate.

“Drive?” Cartman laughed, “You can't even eat cake!”

“I can when it's not wheat flour, and made with Splenda,” Scott sneered at him, as Gerald and Sheila came in to check, and clear up used plates and such.

“You OK, Butters?” Clyde asked, “You're pretty quiet?”

“Oh, uhm, well, I'm just kinda tired, is all,” Butters explained, “Ankle hurts some.”

“I'm sure Kenny will be fine,” Wendy assured him.

“Yeah, gotta be rough, wondering if your new boyfriend's been put in the loony bin or not?” Cartman snickered.

“It's not fun, I've been in one!” Kyle reminded him, “And you're the one who has this thing about pretending to be gay for me, remember? Like that time you got HIV and infected me? Or that time you got on the Jumbotron at the basketball game?”

“Yeah? What is it with that?” Craig wondered.

“nrgh! It's not funny!” Tweek added, shivering a bit, “All that attention? People watching you, and drawing pictures and shit? ARGH!”

“It was a joke!” Cartman protested.

“Eh, just come out, Eric,” Butters suggested, suddenly feeling the urge to fire back at his usual tormentor, “No one will care.” He grinned. “It gets you lots of presents!” He gave him a fake smile.

“Butters, that grin of yours is so creepy,” Cartman sighed, “And I'm not gay!”

“Could've fooled me,” Craig egged it on, as the others finished up with their plates. “Now, you wanna talk creepy? Tweek's folks are creepy!”

“Got that right! And the _gaydar,_ man!” Tweek agreed, taking the hint to provoke Cartman further. “Once you know you're gay, you can – nrgh – spot it a mile away!”

“You cannot!” Cartman protested.

“Big Gay Al says you can?” Craig retorted smugly.

The others all laughed. Cartman blushed.

“Well, I didn't come here to be ripped on! Screw you guys, I'm goin' home!” He announced.

“Please do,” Kyle told him flatly, “Not that _you_ haven't been ripping on everyone else! It's fucking old, Cartman. It stopped being funny when we were nine; you're just too stupid to notice that no one's laughing with you. They're laughing _at_ you!”

“And it's n-not really f-funny,” Jimmy put in.

“Yeah, it might be a good time to consider growing up,” Stan added.

“Oh, yeah!” Cartman fumed, “Invite me over to-”

“No one invited you,” Kyle interrupted, biting off the words 'fat ass'. “You just showed up, as usual.”

Cartman just stared at him.

“Now,” Kyle resumed, “If you can sit down and keep your mouth shut, you're welcome to stay.” He turned to face everyone else. “I invited you all over here for two reasons. First, to welcome Butters home, and let everyone know he's staying here until my dad can sort out the mess with his folks. That, and to talk about K-”

“Yeah! About how his dad's a peee-do, and was taking naked pictures of him? And now his mom's in the loony bin!” Cartman laughed. Many of the others, who obviously didn't know, gasped in shock. Butters' face went red, and his eyes teared up. He started shivering, and Clyde and Token moved in to flank him.

“It's OK, Butters,” Clyde offered.

“No, it's _not_ OK,” Kyle stood up, pointing at the door. “You were warned, Cartman! Get out of my house!”

“What?” Cartman held out his hands, still smiling, “What did I say?”

“Everything,” Wendy retorted, “You've said just about everything you can, to belittle everyone here. Oh, hang on? I think you missed Timmy and Jimmy?”

“Yes, all you've done is stuff your face, and make fun of everyone else!” Bebe agreed.

“Well, no one cares what dumb chicks think!” Cartman told her.

“That's it!” Kyle snapped. “MOM!”

“Oh, that's it, call your mommy!” Cartman smirked, “Too bad we all don't have a big, fat Jewish mother to do our dirty work for us!”

“WHAT WHAT WHAT?!” Sheila screamed.

“And she's standing right behind me again?” Cartman sighed, as Sheila grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him to the front door to toss him out.

“I don't know why you put up with him, Kyle?” Sheila wondered.

“Usually, he just gets mad and leaves, Ma'am,” Wendy offered.

“Anyway, and thanks, Ma,” Kyle resumed, “Like I was saying, I didn't invite everyone here just to welcome Butters back. I think we need to talk about Kenny, too.” Kyle looked right at Butters.

“Well, yeah, I g-guess so,” Butters blushed again. “There's just something about Ken lately that, well, it's...it's not right?” Butters fumbled.

“I think it's sweet,” Lisa put in.

“Uhm, no, but thanks,” Butters smiled, “But I don't think, well, I don't think that Kyle was uhm, planning a coming out party for us?”

“ARGH!” Tweek gasped. “NO! We can't have that until Kenny's better!”

“I don't get it?” Butters wondered.

“It's a big job, being the only gay kids in town,” Craig nodded seriously.

“It's TOO much PRESSure!” Tweak squeaked, nodding quickly, as Craig pulled him closer and took his hand. He put his arm around him and ruffled Tweek's hair. “Now they can start – nrgh – drawing pictures of YOU!”

“BUNNY!” Timmy exclaimed.

“What bunny? I don't think, uhm, I mean, do rabbits and hamsters get along?” Butters wondered, in total innocence.

“Aigh! No!” Tweek explained, “That's when they put your names together, to make one! To name your relationship!”

“Or just 'ship' for short,” Craig added. “Like 'creek'. You put our names together. 'CR' from Craig, and the 'eek' from Tweek. Creek.”

“Oh!” Butters got it. “Well, that's kinda cute, isn't it?”

“See?” Craig pointed out.

“So, speaking of Bunny, I mean _Kenny_ ,” Kyle got them back on track. He pulled out a small notebook. “Some of you might know, like Tweek and Craig, who were there to see it, that Kenny's been having some … moments?” Everyone nodded. Kyle went on. “Ever since he choked on that grape, he's been different. He talks different, he even walks different. Never mind that his dad just tried to kill him, and he cracked his head. Kenny seems to know things.” Kyle paused, noting the others' reactions. “That, and he's being Mysterion again. He was even doing that before, though, but he was still acting all weird.”

“Odd,” Jimmy mused, “W-we haven't b-been super...superhe-heeeeeroooooes...in years?”

“What do you mean, by 'he knows things'?” Clyde asked.

“I don't wanna upset anyone, but Kenny's said some stuff that he can't possibly know about,” Kyle explained, “So, I'm gonna tell you all some of the stuff that Butters told me. I know that some of it's really personal, and you might get embarrassed,” Kyle glanced at Clyde, “But this is just too creepy!” He looked at his notes again. “I'll start off, OK? Butters, you cut in if you need to?”

“Oh, OK!” Butters agreed nervously, “But lemme go first, OK?” Butters looked at them all. He got a drink. “Ken was all upset over my eye again. He's apologized about it a million times, you know. I'm not blind in it, but I can't see too good with it. Anyway, he knew the doctors said I could get a new cornea and lens transplant when I'm bigger, if one becomes available. I never told nobody 'bout that! There ain't no way Ken could know it!”

“But wouldn't that just be the logical conclusion?” Wendy wondered. She thought about it again. “No, you wouldn't be high on the list, since you're not totally and legally blind?”

“Right,” Kyle agreed, “I asked a doctor at the hospital.”

“Are you saying that Kenny somehow knows all our secrets?” Stan asked.

“You have secrets, Stan?” Wendy asked pointedly, which, to some, removed all doubt that she knew his already.

It was Stan's turn to blush a bit. “Me and Kyle talked about it on the way over to pick up Butters,” Stan admitted. “Kenny knew about, I mean, he spouted it off when he was babbling – when he was drugged up,” Stan fumbled, “But he _knew_! I mean, shit! My _mom_ doesn't know!” Stan paused to refill his Coke. “I've got a bottle of Jameson whiskey stashed in my sock drawer,” Stan confessed, “and I'm not over the drinking thing!”

No one said a word. Stan put his head down. Both Kyle and Wendy put a hand on his back.

“Part of one of Kenny's nightmares, is that Stan's gonna drink himself to death before he's even eighteen,” Kyle added.

“But that's just being a concerned friend?” Token wondered.

“No, no...it's not,” Stan sniffled, without raising his head. “You don't understand it! You don't know what it's like to get up every morning, and the first thing you think about is taking a shot! The FIRST thing!”

“We're here for you,” Clyde offered.

“Oh, it gets worse,” Butters added.

“But these are just nightmares he's having?” Wendy asked again.

“So why is Kenny having nightmares about everyone, but for _himself_?” Kyle countered, “And how is it, he's so smart lately? He's moving to the top of the class – in everything! And the other day, before this all went down, he stopped, getting on the bus at school. He stopped, looked at the one bus, took a step back, and then it rolled into the other one! It was like he knew, he was about to get smashed!”

“Premonition?” Bebe wondered.

“That's what scares me,” Butters agreed, “What if he's havin' premo-prem … _them_ things?”

“Timmy?” Kyle then asked, “We all know you know more than you let on, OK? Just because you don't speak very well, doesn't mean you're that bad off. You know you've got another surgery coming up, for the pressure in your head?”

“Yeah!” Timmy nodded.

“They're going to put a probe into your head, to monitor pressure, then let more fluid out? Change the shunt?” Kyle asked, and Timmy nodded. “So, the last time they did a scan of your head, they found something wrong?”

Timmy didn't move. His face paled. Everyone looked at Timmy.

“According to what Kenny told my dad, if they'd operated on Timmy, they'd have cut an artery that sits too far over, and he'd have died on the table,” Kyle read from his notes. “Kenny told my dad, and dad called the doctors. Timmy's last scan showed just that. Timmy, did they tell you that?”

“Yeah,” Timmy agreed, looking terrified. “Kenny?” He wondered.

“So how did Kenny get a hold of Timmy's medical records?” Lisa asked.

“He didn't,” Butters answered. “He just knew!”

“He also knew,” Kyle went on, “About me and Ike. That's why Ike's over at Firkle's house now. Ike's had this thing about being a Canadian, ever since Toronto got blown up. And he's, well, he's hated me ever since President Garrison bombed the city. I've been blaming myself for that tragedy ever since. Getting really standoffish, just sitting in my room, getting depressed. Kenny told me that Ike would come around, and stop blaming me. And that Ike would be the one to make me understand that I didn't cause it.” Kyle paused to get another Fresca. “The other night, I was sitting in my room crying. Again. I've been doing that a lot lately. Ike came in, and, well – we got over it,” Kyle summed it up.

“Dude, I didn't know that Ike hated you?” Stan managed to say.

Kyle sniffled, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“He blamed me, just like I blamed myself,” Kyle nodded, “But Ike finally realized that when he went missing, to capture the president, that you all went with me to find him. And that I would have gone alone, if you hadn't. It's all right between us now.”

“Oh, shit!” Stan gasped, “I mean, Shelly hates me, always has, but you and Ike? You guys have been tight as hell, ever since we hid him in Nebraska, when they were gonna circumcise him! Or that time we all went to Canada to rescue him from his birth parents!”

“I didn't know that?” Token put in.

“Neither did I?” Craig agreed, as did everyone else.

“Y-you have been k-kinda re-re-reeeee-mote?” Jimmy nodded, “And that...that thing, that thing with T-Timmy? No w-way, man! No way c-could Kenny know it!” He then explained getting his last set of leg braces, and how the doctors had just discovered that one of his femoral arteries wasn't in the right place. “When you're f-fuh-fuh-fucked up like w-we are, it's easy to m-miss things like th-that!”

“You're NOT fucked up, Jimmy!” Wendy reminded him.

“And y-you're all such a terrific audience!” Jimmy smiled, but it was obvious from the way that he looked at Timmy, that Jimmy Valmer was rattled.

“So who's next?” Clyde wondered, his eyes a bit wide.

“ _You_ are,” Butters cut in, before Kyle could speak. After all, thanks to the nurses, Butters knew it all about Clyde now. The thing was, if not for Kenny's ravings, Butters wouldn't have even known to ask.

Clyde flinched. “What? What's Kenny been saying about _me_?”

“Things you never told anyone, I'll guess?” Craig offered. “Hey, wait?” He then added, sounding alarmed, “Did Kenny say something about _me,_ too?” He then turned to Tweek, “About US? What the hell did he say about Tweek?!” Craig demanded, which, for Craig, was quite the emotional outburst.

“ME?!” Tweek nearly jumped off the love seat, “AIGH! What about ME? What did I DO?!” He looked around in a near-panic. “It's the Gnomes! They're gonna come back and GET me! Everyone's out to GET ME!”

Having heard him, Sheila brought a steaming mug of coffee. Tweek grabbed it, nearly spilling it, as Craig tried to calm him down. “This is decaff!” Tweek squeaked.

“I know, we talked about this, Babe,” Craig reminded him, “You've gotta cut back.”

“No, I wanna know what Kenny thinks he knows about me?” Clyde stood up, looking at Bebe. He was trembling now, unconsciously holding his hand to right side. His face was pale, too, and he was on the verge of tears.

 _That's proof enough,_ Kyle thought, but he knew he had to ask. “Clyde, we don't wanna embarrass you, but we gotta know! This shit is too weird to ignore, man!”

“Tell you what, Clyde?” Stan asked, “Why don't you just say one thing? See if it's right?”

“So you can agree with it?” Clyde scoffed, sitting back down and moving closer to Bebe. He smiled, but it was fake. “So if I say I had a bad heart, you can say that was it?”

“It's not your heart, Clyde,” Butters put in, and Clyde glared at him.

“AIGH! It's me!” Tweek exclaimed, “I'm gonna have a HEART attaaack!”

“If you don't stay on the decaff, you are, Honey,” Craig settled him back down. He tightened his grip on Tweek's shoulders and smoothed his hair as Tweek drank his coffee. It was quite strong, and Sheila brought him another. He didn't spill any until Craig stroked his ear.

“I don't mean to eavesdrop, Bubbula,” She told Kyle, “But there _is_ a precedent in Jewish lore for this. Not to mention all the old prophets!” She wrung her hands, then looked around the room. “I'm sorry, kids. But I had no idea that things were that bad between Ike and Kyle. How could you not tell me, Bubbie?”

“I'm sorry, Ma,” Kyle apologized, “I just didn't want to...put any more on you and dad than you already had.”

“So what about me?” Clyde reminded them, “OK! OK, you wanna know? When I was little, I had cancer! I lost all my hair, and -”

Kyle held up his notepad. One word was written on the page under the word **CLYDE** : CANCER.

Clyde froze.

Everyone looked at him.

“It was when you were four or five,” Butters spoke up. “Before you moved to South Park. They had to take out part of your colon, and you had the colostomy. They couldn't undo it until you were bigger, older, so there'd be enough to reconnect. I'm sorry, but when Kenny said it, I kinda...tricked my nurse into telling me. It freaked me out, but Kenny was right.”

“NO! You knew that from the time that Stan took a shit in the urinal, and I said I did it!” Clyde countered, “Because I thought it'd be hilarious to aggravate Mr Mackie!”

“And boy, _was_ it!” Stan laughed, even though he was still leaning on Wendy, who had his hands in hers.

“Boys,” Wendy sighed, “Do you ever outgrow the potty humor?”

“NO!” The boys all said together.

“We knew you had a colostomy, but no one knew why,” Kyle agreed, “And that you got it reversed not too long ago. I'm sorry, Clyde, but we gotta get to the bottom of this. You never told anyone you had cancer, right? That that's why you're so obsessed with your hair, and how you look? Why you go out for sports, and all that posing you do in front of your mirror?”

Clyde turned beet red. He looked at Bebe, then looked down at his feet.

“Oh!” Bebe exclaimed, “Flexing in front of your mirror?” She smiled, tickling Clyde's ribs. Clyde smiled and squirmed. “You never invited me?”

“Cut that out!” He told her, but he made no move to stop her.

“Well, he _is_ kinda hot?” Craig offered.

“Yeah, I'd kill for _hair_ like that?” Tweek grinned, having settled down again.

“Would you two STOP THAT?!” Clyde snapped, clearly embarrassed that his friends teased him so. “I'm not gay!”

“No, he's not,” Bebe smiled slyly.

“Too bad,” Craig shrugged.

“What a waste,” Tweek grinned.

“Kenny said you lost a...a...” Butters paused. He leaned over and whispered it in Clyde's ear.

Clyde's face hardened, and he pulled back fast. He looked very angry. “ _Cartman_ started that god-damn rumor, when he was doing the stupid school news show!” Clyde exclaimed, “I never told anyone that I -” He stopped.

“Then how does Kenny know?” Kyle asked in a soft tone. “I won't say it, Clyde, but I'll show you the notes?”

Clyde sat back down. He leaned over on Bebe and started to cry. It wasn't a hard sob, but the embarrassed tears came.

“Oh, Baby, what happened?” Bebe asked, glaring at Butters. “What did you _say_ to him, Butters?”

“What Kenny said to me,” Butters shrugged. “I'm sorry, Clyde. But Kenny said that, well, uhm, if you're not careful, what with what you eat and all, and keep in shape, then you'll...” Butters spread his hands, as if he didn't want to say it.

When Clyde got a hold of himself again, he wiped his face and looked around at everyone. “The rumor's true,” Clyde confessed, “When I was little, when I had the chemo and lost all my hair,” he sniffled, “They found cancer in my left testicle, too. They took it out, and put a fake one in a couple years ago, so I'd look normal, in the showers and stuff.”

The boys all flinched and made uncomfortable sounds.

“Ho-holy shit, Dude!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“What were you about to say, Butters?” Bebe pushed him, “About Clyde keeping in shape and eating right?”

“If I don't, I'll die,” Clyde admitted, “I'm sensitive to food additives, and I'm not supposed to eat things like Cheesy Poofs and tacos, and...and everything I _like_! The cancer could come back, and that's why I miss a couple days of school every semester, to go to Denver, and -”

“See if it's come back?” Kyle held up his notebook again. “Yeah, Kenny already knows. You guys see what I'm getting at here? I'm so sorry, Clyde! I really am!”

“It's OK,” Clyde sighed, “It feels kinda good to get it out. Let's just not tell Cartman, OK?”

“Well, Cartman's gonna die of Type-2 diabetes complications,” Scott Malkinson put in, “Mine's Type-1, but he's a real candidate for 2! Adult onset, that is.”

Kyle held up his notes. Butters nodded. “Kenny says that Cartman dies of a series of strokes, when his blood sugar breaks the 700 mark.”

Scott Malkinson squeaked in alarm. “That's lethal, all right! Heck I get wonky around 200!”

Everyone just stared.

“So, your folks are looking into getting you an insulin pump?” Kyle asked.

“I never told anyone that?” Scott gasped, “Yeah! But it's really cool! No more shots! Hey, wait a minute?”

“Kenny knew,” Butters nodded.

“This is getting creepy,” Craig muttered, as he noticed that Kyle and Butters were looking at him. “WHAT?” Craig demanded.

“What about me?” Token asked.

“You're the boring one,” Butters replied quickly, “He never mentioned you. It's just mainly Kyle, me, Clyde, and Cartman. Well, he never mentioned Jimmy either? Like he made sure that Timmy would be OK?” Butters paused.

“Kenny p-probably saved Tim-Tim's life!” Jimmy blurted.

“TIMMY!” Timmy shouted, “Oh! T-Kenny! Cool!”

“Well, uhm, and Tweek and Craig?” Butters repeated.

“ARGH!” Tweek nearly screamed, and both Kyle and Butters realized that they were going to have to be very careful. Both of them could imagine Tweek locking himself in his room until he turned seventeen, or older, if he knew!

“Kenny seems to be obsessed with Craig and Tweek,” Kyle noted.

“Hell, half the town is,” Craig shrugged, “What else is new?”

“Me and Kenny?” Butters offered, smiling that silly little smile that went halfway up his face again.

“Well, a lot of it is to do with the cars,” Kyle read, “Especially Red Racer. If I were you, Craig, I'd get a camera put on your garage, and make sure it stays locked.”

“What happens to Red Racer?!” Craig demanded. His face then hardened. “Someone fucks with my car?”

“More than once,” Butters nodded, “Your tires get cut a lot. Kenny thinks that Cartman's got it in for you. He's jealous, you know?”

“Just get a camera, Craig, you're the AV guy, after all,” Kyle suggested, avoiding looking at Butters.

Every nerve in Kyle's body was screaming at him to tell them what Kenny had said that he'd seen. Then again, Kyle told himself, he'd never been there to hear Kenny say it. This was all at Butters' word, as he'd been in bed with Kenny when the nightmares and visions hit. Still, Kyle couldn't shake the awful realization of Kenny's predictions of his own relationship with Ike. Or Timmy's misplaced artery. Or Clyde's medical conditions.

All of those had proven eerily true.

“It's not just about vandalizing my car, is it?” Craig's voice snapped Kyle back to reality.

 _I can't tell him that he's going to get Tweek killed, and then live himself, and have no memory of it,_ Kyle thought.

“Kenny says he keeps having visions of you and Tweek getting in a bad wreck on 285,” Butters then blurted, “You both get hurt _real_ bad, and Craig, well, uhm, Craig ends up having a stroke after surgery, and he's never quite right again! He keeps dreaming it every night! I'm sorry!”

Tweek screamed. He clutched Craig with both arms, hiding his face in Craig's shoulder. His words were muffled, but just about everyone could make out, “I told you that car was going to become a death trap!” And something about a Subaru or a Mazda?

Craig looked shocked, then he gave Butters a deadly glare.

“Don't kill the messenger!” Kyle reminded him.

“I'm sorry!” Craig then offered, looking down at Tweek with an expression on his face that no one in the room had ever seen before. “But if anything happened to Tweek, I dunno – I dunno what – I'd...” He stopped. Everyone looked away from the boy who was almost _always_ in control of his emotions. He looked as if he'd just been hit over the head with a blunt object, and there were tears in his eyes.

No one had ever seen Craig Tucker cry.

And while no one said it aloud, a shiver passed through the room. Sheila made a startled sound, and went to adjust the thermostat as the temperature of the room noticeably dropped.

Kyle glanced at Butters, who was starting back at him. Kyle cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

“Whatever we do, we can't let on that we know,” he stated seriously, “Kenny's had it bad enough, and now he's hurt. He doesn't need all of us telling him that we think he's nuts. He needs our help.”

“I don't think _anyone'_ s thinking that now,” Clyde disagreed, wiping his face and looking oddly relieved.

Timmy's alarm then went off, signaling that it was time for him to go home. It was well into the evening, and no one had realized how late they'd run.

“Bye-bye!” Timmy waved, as he made to roll on out to the van that had arrived to pick him up. It was still raining, and Token jumped up to grab an umbrella.

When everyone else had gone, Sheila and Gerald joined Kyle and Butters at the table.

“Ma, you have to know something,” Kyle then admitted, “I've been letting Kenny sneak in and clean up here for a...long while.”

“I know,” Sheila patted his arm, “And at first, I didn't like it. I was watching all the stuff in the house like a hawk. I'm a little disappointed that you didn't feel like you could have come and asked me, though. I've seen Kenny's home, after all.”

“When you gave us all chicken pox,” Kyle grinned, remembering, although it wasn't funny at the time. “I didn't think you liked him, Ma.”

“Well!” Gerald clapped his hands, “If nothing else, Butters can celebrate Hanukkah with us!” They all just stared at him. “OK, I didn't wanna spoil it, but it looks like the case against his grandma is going to be pretty strong. She's still coming to watch the house, but it looks like the judge is leaning in our favor to keep him until Linda is well again.”

Butters plunked his head down on the table, sighing in relief. “And I thought we were gonna have to kill her!”

“Sorry, what?” Sheila asked, not catching it at all.

“Oh, nothing, Ma'am! Thank you!” Butters replied, smiling.

“Why don't you boys get cleaned up and ready for bed, and you can do...whatever...until it's time for bed?” Gerald suggested, “I have legal notes to read!”

“I've got to go and fetch Ike!” Sheila remembered, jumping up to grab her keys and coat.

Although they didn't say it, Kyle could tell that they didn't want to talk about Kenny and his 'predictions'.

*

“That went well?” Kyle offered, as he and Butters sat on his bed, playing video games. Butters' plastic cast was off, and his leg was elevated. “But I can't believe how you lied to them!”

“You saw Tweek!” Butters reminded him, never taking his eyes off the screen.

“What I didn't expect to see was Craig Tucker cry,” Kyle sighed.

“See what I mean?” Butters agreed, as his character was annihilated. “Shit!” He dropped the controller on the bed. “I'm done!”

*

Back at Hell's Pass Hospital, Kenny McCormick lay very still in his bed. He was in five-point restraint, and sensor leads covered his head. He was also deeply sedated, and as several doctors watched, his EEG was going crazy.

“This isn't possible!” One of the neurologists exclaimed, “Not when he's this drugged up! It's like there's more than one set of brainwaves in there?”

“According to this, he's fully conscious and aware?” Dr Norris offered, having called in to chat with Kenny earlier in the day. That, however, had been before Kenny had awakened and found Butters gone – and freaked out. Despite his injuries, it had taken three nurses to restrain him.

“Well, his brain is certainly receiving input from somewhere?” Another doctor stated, “You'd think the machine was reading three different people? Look at this activity in the hippocampus? It's as if he's accumulating memories right now, even though he's unconscious?”

“This one pattern,” Dr Norris pointed out, “Looks consistent with violent, almost psychotic, tendencies?”

*

Some years into the future, Carol McCormick dropped Karen off at the elementary school. She watched, smiling, as the girl ran up the way, her colorful umbrella spinning above her head. Carol then pulled back out, heading for the high school.

“I don't know why you won't learn how to drive, Kenny,” she said, for probably the hundredth time.

“Mom, it's a company car,” Kenny reminded her, listening to the slap of the windshield wipers. It had been raining for days. _It's been raining for years,_ Kenny thought.

“Now, Kenny, I know you're upset about your friend, but it's the best rehab center in the state! I'm sorry we don't have time to go.”

Kenny snorted. “Yeah, Craig's in worse shape than Timmy ever was, and Tweek's still _dead_!”

“ _Still_ dead? Well, yes, Hon, and I'm sorry? But you don't expect him to come back, like Jesus, do you?” Carol wondered.

 _Why the hell not? I have – like a thousand times, now_?

There was, however, something in his mother's voice that got Kenny's attention. He figured that there wouldn't ever be a good time to ask her, so he just came right out and asked. He waited until she'd parked at the student drop off.

“You know that _I_ can't die, right, Mom?”

Carol McCormick said nothing at all.

She simply nodded, looking straight ahead at the car in front of her.

“MOM?” Kenny demanded, as the car behind them honked.

“I have to close tonight,” Carol replied harshly, “You and your sister ride the bus home. There's money on the card, you can order pizza or something – just no more of that damn City Wok food! We'll discuss it later!”

“Fine,” Kenny growled, stepping out into the rain to suddenly find himself beneath a rainbow-patterned umbrella. He watched Carol pull away.

“Hey, Ken! What's wrong?” Butters asked, looking a bit ridiculous in his yellow rain slicker and boots.

“Leo, you look like a fuckin' duck!” Kenny rolled his eyes, staring up the walk to the front doors of South Park High. He felt the warmth of Butter's hand grasping his cold one.

There should have been a boy in a yellow poofball hat limping his way up to the school, but there wasn't.

There should have been a boy in an orange jacket lingering around the west corner, smoking, but there wasn't.

And it should have been a sunny spring day.

But it was raining.

It was raining, and lightning was going to strike the Auto Mechanics garage in a couple of hours.

No, that wasn't right either.

There should have been a boy with black hair parking his red Corvette in the student lot. A boy who would get out of the car, and go around and open the door for the blond boy who always rode beside him.

But the Corvette was in a million pieces, scattered about the school's garage. Kenny didn't need to see it; he knew where it was. _God, why did I let it go so long again?_

_Because you were with Leo this time._

“I like walking in the rain,” Kenny mumbled, “'cause no one can tell if you're crying.”

“Ken, what's wrong?” Butters asked, “I'm sorry, but, uhm, you been worse than Mom havin' Aunt Flo over, ever since school took up!”

“I can't let this happen again, Leo, I'm sorry!” Kenny nodded. “Maybe this time, it'll be different.”

“It's always different, I guess,” Butters sighed, having learned when they'd been twelve years old that his boyfriend really _did_ have some kind of super power. “Every time you save someone, someone else dies. And _he_ never comes back.” After all, Butters had heard Kenny say it often enough. And Kenny knew things that he couldn't possibly know. If not for Kenny, Butters knew, he might well have ended up living with his crazy old grandmother, or his father might have continued doing what he had been doing to Butters with the naked photos.

Or worse.

But Kenny had known. Kenny had exposed it.

Kenny had put a stop to it.

Indeed, some distance out of town in the cemetery, there stood an obstinate marble statue of a weeping boy angel. A statue that absolutely refused to go away, it seemed, no matter how many times Kenny McCormick tried to change that fact.

Kenny then ran back to Butters, knocking the umbrella out of his hands. Kenny embraced him tightly, and kissed him passionately. Kissing him, as a desperate man who isn't sure if he's coming back or not, would. He held him as if this might be the last time, and no one was realizing it. He didn't care who was looking. He didn't hear the catcalls and such. At that one moment in time, as far from perfect as it was, Kenny held onto that one tiny bit of perfection, hoping against hope that it would still be there when he 'got back'.

 _At some point in our childhood, we all went out to play together for the last time – and none of us realized it,_ Kenny thought, remembering their seemingly endless games of superheroes. _Hell, none of you ever remember, anyway_!

When he finally broke the kiss, panting, and with the taste of Butters' still on his lips, Kenny McCormick turned away. “I love you, Leo. That's never gonna change!”

He'd not taken two steps when Butters screamed his name, and a miasma of light in colors with no names surrounded Kenny.

 _Maybe this time, twelve year old **me** will remember how to do this_!

Oddly enough, Kenny laughed at the thought of Kevin Stoley shitting his pants, if Kevin could have seen what was actually happening.

Kenny was leaving.

Again.

The light dissipated.

And then Kenny McCormick's body collapsed on the sidewalk.

That same kind of light that had enveloped Kenny then began bubbling up in the western sky, consuming the clouds, and wiping away everything in its path.

“Oh, hamburgers, here we go again!” Butters said to himself, his faith in what his lover had told him unshakable. “I'll remember this time, Ken!” He cried, holding his arms out to the rainy sky, “I swear I'll remember!”

And then Butters was gone, too.

*

At Hell's Pass Hospital, about four years before, the EEG machine attached to Kenny's head exploded. The doctors monitoring him all jumped back in surprise, yet none of them saw the mystical and beautiful light that surrounded the restrained child.

Kenny's eyes then fluttered open.

He was in bed, alone.

And he knew.

He didn't understand how, but he knew.

“Butters warned them, and it _still_ didn't fucking work!” He growled, pulling at his restraints in frustration.  
  
  


 


	12. Time and Again... in Time, for Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a very exciting chapter, I have to admit. Some humor. Twelve year old Kenny leaps back again, but only by a few minutes. The boys bring lunch to Kenny at the hospital. Kyle reveals that Grandma Stotch is coming, with a lawyer. Realizing that Kyle doesn't really believe him, Kenny lets him know what he's seen of Kyle's future(s). In doing so, Kenny inadvertently causes Kyle to remember all the times that he's died and come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might upset some readers, but circumcision and Kyle being an asexual are mentioned here. I wasn't originally going to include the ending of this, but I tacked it back on anyway. It was going to end with Kyle just walking out into the snow flurry. See notation in text body.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 12**

**Time...and Again, in Time for Lunch**

*

Summary: Kenny discovers that being Immortal is not his only superpower. After a test at the hospital goes wrong, he discovers that he has the power to “leap” back and forth through time, seemingly at will. The only problem is the confusion of remembering every possible outcome of his actions.

*

“Get him disconnected!” One of the doctors was yelling, as the EEG machine sizzled and smoked. Electrodes were torn from Kenny's head, and the boy's eyes popped open in surprise. No one noticed it right away in the chaos; they were too busy putting out the fire, and trying to salvage the printout.

“Butters?” Kenny mumbled, struggling to look around, and finding that he couldn't move. “Restraints!” He realized, remembering the outburst he'd had when he'd awakened to find Butters discharged and gone.

“Good Lord, he's awake!” Someone exclaimed, as the doctors turned their attention to him.

“That's impossible!” Dr Norris declared, “Not with the sedative he was given!”

“I...I was there?” Kenny wondered, looking up at the men looking down at him. It frightened him.

“Where were you, Kenny?” Dr Norris asked, “Were you dreaming?”

“N-no, I was there,” Kenny replied, his voice raspy. Dr Norris offered him a drink of water. “I was at school. With Butters. It was raining.”

“It's almost Christmas, Kenny. It's supposed to snow tonight,” Dr Norris told him.

“My mom dropped me off,” Kenny went on, sounding confused, “I...I don't drive. She had to take me.”

“Well, I certainly hope not!” Dr Norris patted his hand, “You're only twelve.”

“No! Wait? What?” Kenny blinked a few times. Then it came back to him. He was twelve years old again. He was still in the hospital with a broken leg, a broken rib, and a concussion from Stuart trying to kill him. “But I was there?” He repeated, feeling a chill. “Craig?”

“Tucker?” Dr Norris asked, “You mean that _nasty_ little boy with the blue hat? Tweek's boyfriend?”

“Yeah?”

“I'd imagine he's home. Why?”

 _Twelve. I'm twelve_ , Kenny reminded himself, _The lightning strike. The void. The other me. I landed here. I'm not almost seventeen. Craig and Tweek are still OK! It's still four years off_!

“Never mind,” Kenny tried to evade the question.

Dr Norris looked suspicious, though. “Kenny, the machine we had hooked up to you blew up, I'm afraid,” he explained, “But before it did, it was recording your brainwaves. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Well, it showed what looked like three distinct brain patterns in your head,” The doctor explained, in a very condescending tone, which irritated Kenny. “It should have shown one, and very depressed one, at that. You're supposed to be sedated. In fact, it's not even medically possible for you to be awake. I'd like to do some more tests, if that's OK with you?”

 _Don't let him_! The Other snapped, _We can't let him know the secret! We can't let him know who or what we are!_

_And just what the fuck are we?_

_An Abomination, a Horror!_

_A time traveler? I swear to God, I was there, with Butters, and we were in high school!_

_Something unnatural!_

“No, no more brain tests!” Kenny protested, deciding to try the 'frightened child' card. It didn't seem to work even when he started to cry and begged to know why he was restrained.

“You got violent when you saw that your boy-, I mean, your friend was gone,” Dr Norris explained, “Don't you remember?”

In fact, Kenny did not remember. He tried to explain that, but it was clear that the doctors didn't believe him. Then again, he wasn't sure he believe it himself. He thought he remembered? Or didn't he?

“Your voice even changed,” Dr Norris told him, “Like that actor in the Batman movie? All deep and rough? You don't remember?”

“No, sir?” Kenny whimpered, putting on the best scared-child act that he could, and wishing that he had half of the acting skills that Tweek had. “Please, sir? I just wanna go home!” Kenny begged.

“I'm afraid that's not possible, Kenny,” Dr Norris told him, “You're a very sick little boy, I think. Do you know what schizophrenia is?”

“Yes, and I think it's more along the lines of DID or MPD,” Kenny retorted, “Not schizophrenia. I'm not seeing people that aren't there, that only I think are real. If anything, Doctor, my mind has clearly created alternate personas, or Alternates, if you will, that take over when Kenny can't cope.”

The doctors all stared at him, and Kenny realized that he might have just made a mistake. Where they saw only a low-income, and probably 'stupid' twelve year old boy, was in fact a very intelligent seventeen year old mind with multiple lifetimes of experience under his proverbial belt.

 _Try and prove that one_! The Other scoffed.

“Kenny, I think we should keep you restrained, so that you don't hurt yourself,” Dr Norris informed him, his tone still placating. “I want to move you to the, uhm, a more secure ward.”

“The psyche ward?” Kenny smiled, “What good's that gonna do either of us?”

Dr Norris then seemed to realize something. “You're a lot smarter than you let on, or that your grades show, aren't you?”

“So I'm told,” Kenny replied.

 _And if I could get loose, you'd be short a few teeth!_ The Other complained.

“By whom?”

“A lot of people,” Kenny answered, “And it's true. Don't believe me? Gimme an IQ test.”

 _Oh, that's good! We can do this all fucking day long!_ The Other laughed.

 _Why not?_ Someone else added, and Kenny realized that it might well be what he called “Older Kenny” - the Kenny who seemed to have screwed up yet again. The Kenny that had allowed Tweek to die in the accident yet **again** , and decided to live it out – yet again – with his new relationship with Butters.

With Leo.

 _How could I have been so selfish_? Kenny wondered, as five more years worth of brand new and altered memories suddenly began flooding in on him. He gasped, his eyes going wide. He shivered, inhaled sharply, then felt his eyes getting heavy.

Craig was limping up the front walk to the school.  
He stumbled.  
He didn't.  
He fell, bloodying his nose.  
He fell, but Kenny caught him.  
Kenny was in general math.  
He was in algebra.  
It was sunny and springtime.  
It was spring, but a storm was rolling in.  
He was dating Leo.  
He wasn't dating anyone.  
He loved Leo.  
He loved no one.

His friends?  
What friends?

Craig was walking.  
Craig was using a cane.  
Craig used a wheelchair, like Timmy.  
Craig was home-bound.

But the one constant in the flood of conflicting memories was Tweek Tweak.

Tweek was still dead.

He was dead in every single Timeline that Kenny could remember.

And there were a shitload of them.

Clyde was healthy.  
Clyde was dying of cancer.  
Stan was OK.  
Stan had drank himself to death.  
Kyle was OK.  
Kyle was a recluse with severe depression.  
Leo was his boyfriend.  
Leo was a social misfit and a loner – the “weird kid”.

There were two statues in the cemetery.  
There were two statues and a tombstone next to them.  
There was one statue and one tombstone.  
There was one statue.

Craig had committed suicide.  
Craig was alive.

Clyde died.  
Clyde was perfectly healthy.

Timmy had died in surgery.  
Timmy was improving by the day.

But Tweek was dead.

Tweek was _always_ dead.

WHY THE HELL WAS TWEEK STILL DEAD?

“They told them!” Kenny gasped, “Kyle and Butters told them all, and he **still** died!”

_Butters would tell him, some days later when he'd been discharged and sent home, that they'd all gotten together to discuss Kenny's so-called visions and nightmares. Butters would feel so bad about it, but also concerned at the same time. He'd break down crying when he apologized, but when he'd get a hold of himself, he'd tell Kenny that everything he'd been dreaming or 'seeing' had been true: Timmy's cranial arteries, Clyde's cancer remission, Kyle's problems – all of it! “But we didn't tell Tweek and Craig about Tweek dying in the accident! We just said it was gonna be -”_

_And Butters would believe him. **Leo**. Leo would believe him. For four years, Leo would hang on his every word when Kenny talked about what he knew. He wouldn't need proof, even though Kenny would give it to him._

“ _Your grandma isn't going to be a problem. She'll die soon.” And she had._

“ _You're going to win the final elementary art show with a piece called 'Cow in the Moonlight',” Kenny told him, and sure enough, the piece had won._

“Who told who, what, and who died?” Dr Norris asked softly, “Kenny?”

But Kenny was on the verge of passing out, the flood of shifting and clashing memories too much for him to process.

His friends came to visit every day.  
He was held in the psyche ward with no visitors.  
They had a little party at lunch.  
No one came.  
Leo was always there.  
Leo never came back.

“No, concentrate on this... _this_...wave of stuff!” Kenny told himself.

_Four years were passing in his head. Kenny was home, on the mend. Butters was with him. Butters was always with him. Everyone thought it was cool. Sixth grade passing. Cartman was still ripping on them. Carol had a job in lower management with Olive Garden. Kevin was home, and still in school. **Sodosopa** was being renovated. Randy Marsh's TV show had renovated their house. Seventh grade. Going to school in a new building. Getting lost. No one wore hats anymore. No poofballs, ushankas, or chullos. Trying to have the same classes. Working on bikes with Craig. Working on lawnmowers, weed whackers, snow blowers, you name it. Eighth grade. Working part time jobs. Starting a small engine business with Craig._

_Helping Craig work on Red Racer. Being Mysterion. Sitting on Craig's roof, watching as he started Red Racer for the first time. Professor Chaos, reformed, was right there with him._

_No, he wasn't._  
“Well, if it isn't Captain Pussy, and his boyfriend, Captain Underpants?”  
Yes, he was.

_Craig and Tweek curled up in the passenger seat of the Corvette, asleep after installing the new stereo._

_'Hold my hand...I want you to hold my hand...'_

_All the junior high school problems. A few crazy adventures. High school. Drama. Friends. Relationships forged, relationships ending._

_That first real kiss. That first “I love you.”_

“ _As the wave of petty crimes continue to escalate in South Park, it seems that the a few vigilantes – first spotted some years ago – have made a return to try and...”_

_Tweek and Craig._

“ _It's a big job, being the only gay couple in school, you know!”  
“NRGH! Did you see what the Asian girls drew now?!”_

_Kenny and Butters._

_Leo._

_No one called him Leo._

_High school._

“ _If you like art, and you're good at it, then you should do it, Leo!”_

“ _I don't know, Ken? Maybe we're too young? Maybe we, uhm, ought'ta wait?”_

“ _Hold on, WHO did you say was pregnant?”_

_They had waited.  
They hadn't waited._

“ _I wanna make love to you!”_

_MAKE IT STOP! I CAN'T...I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON!_

“ _I'm taking Tweek to Denver for the holiday weekend! He'll be so happy!”_

“ _NO!”_

And then that miasma of inexplicable light exploded around him again.

 _So beautiful_! Kenny marveled at it, forcing his eyes open with his last bit of strength.

“Kenny?” Dr Norris was asking, as the light dissipated, “Kenny, are you awake?”

Kenny focused, and saw his hospital room. He fidgeted, and found himself not restrained. The bed felt warm. He looked around, but didn't see Butters. His rib and leg didn't hurt so much, and the doctor looked concerned. He was standing next to some kind of machine.

“It's OK, Kenny, your friend went home with that red-haired boy and his family, while you were asleep.”

“Kyle?” Kenny wondered, feeling the panic building inside of him. Then he froze.

_The outburst! Don't blow up! Don't freak out! Is this why I don't remember it? Because I never did it? Butters is with Kyle. That's good! It means that Queen Torpedo-Tits isn't here yet!_

_We've gone back again_! The Other surmised, _Back, just a matter of minutes!_

“Kenny, we'd like to run some tests? Your friends say you've been talking in your sleep? We think it might be the drugs, but we need to be sure, since you hit your head. Is that OK?” Dr Norris asked.

“OK, yeah, sure?” Kenny mumbled, “Can I have a drink?”

Again, that feeling that something had changed. Kenny felt a chill, and for just a second, it felt like the bed had fallen out from under him. He flinched, and sucked down the offered cup of water.

“Kenny?”

“Just dizzy, I guess,” Kenny offered, clutching the sides of the mattress.

“This won't hurt a bit, Kenny,” Dr Norris was telling him, “Just relax!”

 _I'm outta here_! The Other exclaimed, and then He was gone.

Kenny lay still as the team attached the leads to his head. They turned the machine on and waited. Kenny watched it 'do its thing', the jumpy readout doing this and that. It looked like any other medical machine he'd seen on TV shows.

“Well, you have a very active brain, Kenny!” Dr Norris told him, “But I don't see anything here that looks abnormal. Maybe a little excitement in the memory centers?”

“That's good,” Kenny sighed, as he relaxed, trying to clear his mind. He kept waiting for the doctors to notice what would appear to be three distinct brain patters, but they never did.

And since he was very tired and very confused, Kenny went back to sleep.

He dreamed of that same stretch of Route 285, but this time, there was no traffic. He waited. And he waited. But no traffic came. No truck. No Corvette. He dared to look in the tall grass, but there was no hand reaching towards the bloody pavement. In fact, the pavement was clean.

“So there _is_ hope, then?” Kenny wondered, sitting down to lean up against a speed limit sign's post.

“There's always hope,” that voice on the winter wind replied, “So long as you don't give up.”

“I don't know how much longer I can do this,” Kenny told it.

*

That next morning, the hospital had a problem. Security was paged, being told that _**The Fighters of Zaron**_ were at the front door, threatening to overrun “the prison,” as they were there to rescue the Princess Kenny. Feldspar the Thief, Barbarian Tweek, Ranger Marshwalker, The High Jew Elf King, and even Clyde The Lord of Darkness – who was threatening the security guards with a stick.

“Boys, visiting hours are from -”

“Well, now you listen here, uhm, you-you...Harpie!” Paladin Butters waved his hammer at security guards and nurses. It was all he could do to balance on his crutches.

“I think I can sort this out,” Nurse Christina offered, emerging from the main nurses' station to pause at the startling, but cute, sight. “The Princess has a CT scan shortly, but she'll be released tomorrow morning, if that rib looks all right.”

“God, I hope so. I feel so damn stupid,” Ranger Marshwalker muttered, which got him a jab to the ribs with the High Jew's golf club. “OWWW! Shit, Dude, that hurts!”

“We're trying to cheer Kenny up, remember?” Kyle reminded Stan.

“We're all gonna end up in the psyche ward,” Craig declared.

“Nrgh! I thought this was a lotta fun!” Tweek exclaimed.

“Getting hundreds of people murdered at the mall was fun?” Craig asked in reply. Then he smirked, chuckling that odd little laugh of his. “Yeah! It was!”

*

There were no more tests that day. _**The Fighters of Zaron**_ got to stay most of the day, and while it was clear that some of them were clearly freaked out by what they'd been told the previous day, no one pressured Kenny for information.

“It's not like I'm a psychic,” Kenny told them, when Clyde couldn't stand it anymore and blurted out a rather indelicate question. “But if it'll make you feel better, Clyde, I've never had a dream or anything about your other testicle,” Kenny smirked at him. “As far as I know, you don't end up completely neutered.”

“Oh! That's a relief!” Clyde sighed, grinning a silly grin. “Yeah!” He paused. “Hey, wait a minute?” He then blushed furiously.

“Yeah, well, he's not the one wearing a blond wig,” Stan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, my head hurts.” Kyle put an arm about his shoulders. “I know,” Stan sighed, “I fucking know, OK?” He didn't try to shake Kyle off, though.

Kenny ignored his comment. It might have been ridiculous for twelve year olds, the cosplay, but it certainly made him feel better. He also noticed that Butters kept sneaking silly little grins at him. Still, the sight of Stan with Kyle comforting him brought back the memory of one possible future:

Stan, drunk and passing out, freezing to death in the tool shed at the cemetery.

“Clyde,” Craig sighed, “Kenny hit his head. That's all. Remember when the idiots in this town thought that Cartman had some kind of psychic powers, when he jumped off the roof? I mean, shit, Dude! Kenny's dad tried to kill him! That's gonna give _anyone_ nightmares!”

“Craig,” Tweek interrupted, “What about Timmy? What about Kyle? Nrgh! Not to mention Clyde?”

“That's true, Dude,” Clyde agreed, “You think I'd have ever told anybody that I had my left nut taken out? Hell, no!”

“OK, so maybe some of it's right,” Craig admitted, “But don't you think it'd kinda lame, saying I'll crash Red Racer? Now that I know, won't that prevent it?”

“ARGH!” Tweek squeaked, “I TOLD you, you should get a Mazda or a Subaru or SOMEthing small!”

 _Apparently not,_ The Other whispered in Kenny's mind, _We should just tell him! It's probably Craig not believing you that keeps causing all this!_

“Maybe you're just obsessing over it, Kenny?” Kyle offered, but it was clear, from the tone of his voice, that he wasn't convinced either.

“What'd I m-miss, guys?” Jimmy then asked, as he came into the room. “Ortho-ortho-peeeee... Orthopeeeeed...”

“Orthopedics?” Stan helped him out.

“Yeah! R-ran a bit long,” Jimmy explained, pointing out the new braces on his legs. “Oh? W-wuz I s'posed to be The B-Bard today? N-no one t-told me?”

“That's what you get for missing staff meetings,” Kenny grinned, sniffing. It was about time for lunch, and he could smell the carts hitting the corridors. “God, I'm gonna lose my mind if I don't get some real food! If that's meat loaf again, there's gonna be murder!”

“Fear not,” a voice called from the doorway, as a short Zorro wheeled a cart in. The smell of Mexican food filled the room as he lifted the lid of a large covered dish.

“Oh, I like that?” Stan said to Kyle.

“You don't think it's too Superhero?” Kyle asked him.

“I think it could go both ways,” Clyde nodded, which was enormously funny to the boys. “Great idea, David!”

“Uhm, what did they used to call them? The Highwayman?” Butters wondered. “David, the Highwayman! Yeah!”

As the boys ate lunch, Jimmy told them about his knee and how the new brace was supposed to help it.

“It will,” Kenny said without thinking, “By eighth grade, you'll just have the crutches for support, and be able to go a few steps at a time without them.”

Everyone stopped eating. Clyde nearly dropped his taco. They all stared at Kenny.

“What?” Kenny asked.

Butters reached over and wiped some sauce off his chin. “You did it again, Ken.”

“Here we go again,” Craig sighed, watching Tweek struggling with a tortilla that he'd filled, that wouldn't stay closed on the end. Craig grabbed it out of his hands, folded it right, restuffed it, and held it, as Tweek's hands were shaking.

“Dude, don't you get cold without a shirt?” Kenny asked, hoping to change the subject.

“No, not really,” Tweek answered, nibbling at the burrito as Craig held it.

“Why are you shaking again, then?” Kyle asked.

“Argh! Decaff, man!” Tweek sighed, “It's all Mr and Mrs Tucker buy! I can't stand it!” Tweek explained. “And the coffee at the shoppe isn't right! I dunno what Dad did, but even the XXX-Blend ain't doin' it for me! Nrgh!”

“You're going to have a heart attack if you don't -” Kenny caught himself that time.

“So _now_ it's a heart attack?” Craig asked, giving Kenny a withering look.

“That one was a figure of speech,” Kenny explained. “Tweek, you're an addict! First, the meth thing. Then the coffee. You're twelve, Dude! Your body can't take this! You're gonna have partial dentures by the time you're fifteen, and you're -” Kenny stopped.

Everyone was looking at him.

 _He's died a hundred times. A thousand. A million. In a Multiverse full of Tweeks, they're all dead,_ The Other told Kenny. Or was it The Other? It almost sounded like someone else. Older Kenny? That Voice that rode the wind out on 285?

“I didn't mean it like that,” Kenny apologized, noting the death glare that Craig was giving him. “We've all got problems, Tweek. I know it's hard. Parents suck, sometimes.”

 _Yeah, well, Richard Tweak doesn't suck too much now, now that he's had the shit beat out of him!_ The Other laughed.

The mood was much improved, though, when Dr Norris picked an unfortunate moment to walk in. Confronted by the sight of the _**Fighters of Zaron**_ , Princess Kenny and Barbarian Tweek included, he simply threw up his hands and declared, “I do _not_ want to know!” and left the room.

The boys all laughed. Tweek stopped shaking. They finished their lunch, declaring David the saviour of the day.

“So where's Cartman, anyway?” David asked, as he cleared up the mess, more out of courtesy than habit. Butters lent him a hand.

“We asked him to come, he said it was gay,” Kyle snarled, rolling his eyes.

“Must be, then?” Craig snickered, which got Tweek to laugh, too.

“Wendy said it was childish,” Stan sighed, and Kenny noticed that his hands were shaking, too.

“So, when you getting outta here?” David asked Kenny.

“I guess, if the tests don't show anything bad, maybe day after tomorrow?” Kenny replied, “But I dunno if I can go home or not.”

“You should be able to,” Kyle assured him, “Stan's dad's show is filming, they already got your heat on, and the exterminator is coming tonight, for the rats. Your mom said that -”

“THE RATS?!” Butters gasped, “Oh hamburgers!”

“Not Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion!” Kenny sat up suddenly, gasping in pain, and looking to Butters.

“I...I'll go get Karen, and some egg rolls!” Butters promised, as out the door he hobbled.

“I think someone better go with him,” Stan sighed, following him out.

“You named the rats?” David wondered.

“Just the good ones I tamed,” Kenny replied, “I can't afford fancy things, like guinea pigs!”

“I know how that is,” Craig nodded, “Stripe's cost me a fortune over the years!”

“Argh! Me too!” Tweek agreed, “It's as bad as having kids!”

They all just stared at the oddly matched pair. Kenny had to laugh, which hurt.

*

Slowly, the lunch party broke up. Kyle was the last one remaining, and he turned to Kenny with a serious look.

“Butters' grandma is due in town tomorrow,” Kyle informed him, “I sneaked into Dad's office last night, and read his notes. I'm not much of a lawyer, but it looks like she's got some guy from Denver to fight us over temporary custody of Butters.” Kyle waited. Kenny didn't immediately answer. His blue eyes were glazed, as if he were drugged. “Kenny?”

Kenny flinched. In the myriad of possible futures, there was only one course of action that he was sure of. He had, after all, seen variations of only two possible outcomes: Grandma Stotch died, or she remained and got custody of Butters.

Kenny much preferred the former.

And he really didn't care how that got accomplished.

Kyle took a step forward. “You really love him, don't you?”

“I'll kill for him,” The voice of Mysterion answered, and then it was gone again. “If that old bat wins custody, Kyle, trust me – I _will_ kill her!”

“Kenny, don't talk like that!” Kyle gasped, “And if this is another one of your -”

“If she gets custody of Butters,” Kenny began, trying to keep his voice even, “He won't last a year.”

“You're _sure_ about this?” Kyle countered.

But Kenny had already seen it. In the moment that Kyle had mentioned her coming, a new set of memories that Kenny had tried hard to ignore had come crashing in on him.

Butters wasn't there.  
Mysterion sat alone on Craig's rooftop.

“I need to rest, Kyle,” Kenny mumbled, “I thought you believed me?”

“You were right about a lot of things, Kenny, but this is Butters' life we're talking about!” He paused, giving Kenny a look. “And you? YOU, of all people? You're telling me that you're gay, and in love with Butters? Are you sure you're really Kenny?” Tried to make a joke, and failed.

“Don't make me play hardball with you on this, Kyle. I don't wanna hurt your feelings, but I'm pretty sure that's what it's gonna take to totally convince you.” Kenny glared at him.

“You sound like an older brother, or even a parent again?” Kyle replied. “Now you're telling me that you've had visions of what Butters' grandma will do to him? I mean, I dunno what to believe! Dude, you're freaking me out!”

“She's a sick, abusive bitch!” Kenny told him bluntly, “Why do you think Butters' dad is such a fucked up mess?” He waited, but Kyle just crossed his arms and slowly shook his head.

“What's he gonna do? Live with you and your family, then?” Kyle mused, “You're lucky that you even get to go home, and not back into foster care!”

“And thanks a whole fuckin' lot for that!” Kenny countered, “Where were all my friends, when my ass got packed off to Greeley, huh? Shit, man! It took me and Butters almost getting killed before anyone could be bothered to care about the poor kid? For your information, Kyle, Linda Stotch will get over this. She'll get supervised visitation, and she'll get Butters back. In the meantime, it's up to your family to stall Grandma off. You still don't believe me?” Kenny dug in, “OK, _fine_! You want more proof? You need more than what I knew about Clyde and Stan to convince you? I know that you picked your Human Kite persona because you hate yourself! You hate being a Jew, and being different. And it's not the just the Christmas thing, either! You can't stand it, that you don't fit in. You never did get over the psychological thing about circumcision, when they came to do Ike's. That's why you chose 'asexual alien' as your superhero persona, remember? There's no 'Jew-thing involved' – or whatever you said?”

Kyle's face paled, but Kenny went on.

“I know that you know all about the mechanics of sex,” Kenny dug in further, sounding far too mature, “But that you've no interest in sex at all. You don't even jerk off! You don't even really acknowledge that you've even _got_ stuff down there _to_ mess with, and probably wouldn't miss it, if it were all gone. You're fascinated by the sexless-alien thing. By the time you're sixteen, you won't even have ever masturbated yet, and you'll _never_ be with anyone! You really are an asexual, Kyle, and you're terrified to come out with it. More afraid of _it,_ than if you were gay! In fact, I know that when they circumcised you, they hit a nerve and killed off a lot of the feeling in your penis! That's why you were so flipped out over Ike! You were afraid they were going to do the same thing to him.”

Kyle blinked. His jaw dropped.

“You can't _possibly_ know all that!”

“I can, if you're _going_ to tell me that when you're fourteen!” Kenny countered, “God dammit, Kyle, admit it! What's it gonna take to get you to believe me? I've seen the future, Kyle – or at least, a few possible ones! I've lived it! More than a few times! I'm not a dumb twelve year old, OK? I'm nearly seventeen, and I've grown up more times than year that you've been alive! And in every damn one of those short lives, one of my friends – not to fucking mention Tweek – is DEAD!” Kenny got a drink of water, then went on. “I've seen Clyde die! I've seen Butters suffer! I've seen Stan die! You know as well as I do that he's shaking because of the DT's! He's trying so hard to stay off the booze, but if you don't lay him out, Kyle, he's gonna fail! He's gonna ditch you, and then drink himself to death when you're not there for him!” Kenny took a deep breath, realizing that he was tearing up. He didn't care, though. “Remember when we were ten? Remember when he needed you, Kyle, and you turned your back on him? When he showed up drunk at Cartman's house, with the hamburger stand?”

Kyle froze.

“He needed you, and you turned your back on him,” Kenny went in for the proverbial kill. “Well, the next time, Kyle, Stan is going to die. And it'll be because YOU killed him!” Kenny winced in pain, cursing his broken rib. “You never had a relationship, Kyle, but you had your friends. At least, you did in the future where you don't just close up and push us away! And if you think I'm gonna stand idly by and let something similar happen to Butters, you're sadly mistaken, my friend!”

“It hasn't been the same, after that,” Kyle admitted, “Even after the Black Friday thing, when we first put on these silly costumes. I failed him then, too. Cartman set him up, and he got grounded. It was all my fault.”

“I'm trying to change things, Kyle,” Kenny told him, “But every time I change one thing, another one goes wrong. Goes worse.” He glared at Kyle, and Kyle broke out in goosebumps.

It was the look in Kenny's eyes.

Kyle had read books. He'd watched TV. He knew the tired old cliché of hard, frozen, blue eyes.

But Kenny's were. They _really_ were.

Where he should have had eyes, Kenny had sparkling gemstones that seemed hard enough to cut into Kyle's very Soul.

At least, that was how Kyle perceived it.

 _No child should be able to look like that!_ Kyle thought, _And did he really come back in time, like that TV show? Or is he just nuts from hitting his head?_

“Change things?” Kyle wondered, lost for words as he stared into Kenny's eyes. He could have sworn he saw other colors mixed in with that awful blue.

“You really _do_ know?” Kyle gasped, looking away quickly.

“Go and talk about _**Quantum Leap**_ with Kevin Stoley,” Kenny advised him, pressing the nurse-call button, “I know this stuff, because I've already lived through it. And that's OK. I'm OK with it. I die all the time, Kyle. That's how I got you all out of the Cthulhu dimension, that one time, when Bradley Biggle rescued you. I sacrificed myself for you. I've done it time and again, and I'll do it again, if I have to. It's just such a damn pity that none of you remember it.”

“I remember Cthulhu,” Kyle admitted, “I remember that sunken city, and the monsters. You told everyone that you couldn't die?”

“And I jumped off a cliff, right in front of you!” Kenny whimpered, his rib and head really hurting, “And you didn't fucking remember.” He started to cry. “How many times, Kyle? How many times do I have to die for one of you, before it's finally over?”

Kyle went to him, and took his hand. Kenny didn't stop him. It was just like in cartoons, Kenny thought, when the light bulb came on over someone's head – when they'd finally figured something out. “You really died!” Kyle gasped, “You died, but you came back! But that's _impossible_!”

“Look at me, Kyle,” Kenny mumbled, wishing that there were some way to make Kyle remember **all** the times that all those deaths had reset the Timeline. Perhaps just this one time would be enough.

“You were there, and then you weren't?” Kyle breathed, finding that he couldn't look into Kenny's eyes again. “But, where'd you go? You just...you just showed up out of nowhere, that Christmas Eve when we went to Iraq? It was like you were never even gone?” Kyle thought about it, as Nurse Christina came in and gave Kenny an injection to his IV.

“Hurts again, Honey?”

“Really bad, Ma'am!” Kenny cried.

“Would you sit here with him, until I get back?” The nurse asked, and Kyle nodded.

“Think about this, Kyle: Why did you all hang out with Butters, and then with Tweek, for so long?” Kenny asked, his eyes slipping shut. “Think about it, Kyle?”

“Because you... _you_ weren't there?” Kyle wondered, looking genuinely confused. “Where were you?”

“Dead,” Kenny sighed, as he suddenly remembered where he had, in fact, been for all that time that Butters and Tweek had filled in for him.

 _I knew that place looked familiar!_ Kenny realized, thinking of the Void, where he'd met that Other Kenny. Where he'd first seen all those fantastic colors and visions.

But that _hadn't_ been the first time he'd seen it. When the lightning had hit his sixteen year old self in the Auto Mechanics garage, and he'd found himself drifting in that void, he hadn't remembered. He hadn't remembered that he'd been there before, just drifting, waiting. Watching.

“I wasn't in Heaven, when you all built that...built that... ladder,” Kenny sighed, as he fell asleep. _It wasn't Heaven. It was training, for what I had to do!_

 _Everything that you were, and everything that you will yet be, will always be a part of you,_ that Voice on the wind told Kenny, as he felt himself beginning to drift again.

“Kenny?” Kyle asked softly, but the even breathing told him that Kenny was asleep.

“We _did_ build that crazy-ass ladder!” Kyle suddenly remembered, as his head began to spin. The rush nearly made him fall out of his chair, and it was all he could do to stumble to the bathroom and throw up as a flood of things he'd forgotten suddenly came back, overwhelming him. From the time he'd killed Zombie-Kenny with a chainsaw, all the way up to Kenny having been run over by a distracted driver on their cell phone, and everything in between assaulted his mind.

Kyle stayed until the nurse returned, explaining that Kenny had gotten agitated and tried to sit up too fast. He explained, when she asked why he looked so bad, that lunch had made him ill. He then went back out the main entrance, feeling just a bit ridiculous in his costume. Then again, it was South Park. Probably no one would notice his crown of twigs, robe, and his golf club. It was snowing, but then again, it was usually snowing.

* DELETED ENDING REINSERTED *

“This isn't right,” Kyle muttered to himself, going over it again and again, what Kenny had told him. Kyle had been feeling very isolated lately, but he hadn't mentioned it. He hadn't been as social, either. Perhaps Kenny had picked up on that? “But he couldn't have known about the other stuff, unless he'd been there,” Kyle reminded himself, to say nothing of all the things he was suddenly remembering. “Not unless you told him, and you've never told anyone.”

Just like Clyde had sworn that he'd never told anyone.

Kyle remembered Cartman drinking Kenny's ashes, and becoming possessed by Kenny's Soul.

That, it turn, made him think about Heidi Turner again. He thought he'd really liked her. Then again, had he only thought that he liked her, because some part of him wanted to ruin things for Cartman? “ _You've_ never had a girlfriend, Kyle!” Cartman had told him. And after they'd broken up, Kyle asked himself, why _hadn't_ he gone after Heidi? It had taken a while, but after she'd gotten better, Heidi had begun seeing Jason White. Kyle realized that it hadn't bothered him at all, and in fact, he hadn't even thought about asking her out again. In fact, he hadn't thought about asking _anyone_ out. The jokes about him and Stan being a couple didn't even affect him any more, but, he realized, that was because the relationship between them just wasn't the same.

Just as Kenny had said.

Kyle sighed. It was true. He thought about Clyde and Bebe, Tweek and Craig, Stan and Wendy, Heidi and Jason, Token and Nichole, and any other couple he'd known. He remembered the ruckus at school when Cartman had decided that he'd been transgender, and hadn't been, of course. That had all been a ruse to get his own private restroom. Wendy had turned his own trick against him though, and Kyle remembered that Wendell had been a very convincing boy. Still, none of that had been serious. It had been Stan who'd been gender-confused, not Kyle.

“I guess I'm just relationship-confused?” Kyle mumbled to himself.

He thought about Tweek and Craig, and how long it had taken them to finally realize that they really _did_ have feelings for one another. And now Kenny seemed to be coming out, and pursuing a relationship with Butters. Kyle had to wonder if that were just an aftereffect of their nearly being killed by Kenny's dad. After all, Kenny had always been the 'naughty one': obsessed with things like pornography, getting high, finding out that he was dating a so-called slut, and the like. Hell, Kenny had even started sniffing cat urine to get so high that he thought he was in some sort of parallel universe where boobs were worshiped.

But maybe Kenny had just been acting? Maybe he'd just been trying to fit in.

Or maybe he was bi? That was possible, Kyle supposed.

“Like _you've_ been trying to fit in,” Kyle told himself. He sighed again, exhaling a large cloud of steam that blew back and all around his head. His ears were cold. He wished he'd worn his green hat.

But no one wore hats anymore.

“It used to be easy to see your friends coming,” Kyle recalled, stepping aside as a gang of younger kids came charging down the sidewalk, all yelling and screaming and looking so happy. “Probably off on some great adventure,” Kyle mused, remembering things like a fortress, Drow Elves, and evil Wizards.

And friends.

It was great to have your friends.

One of the smaller boys was wearing a blue knit cap with a yellow poofball.

“But that's _all_ they are. Friends,” Kyle realized, thinking again about what Kenny had said, and feeling more like an alien than ever before.

“Are you an Elf?” A small voice then asked, jerking Kyle back to reality.

Kyle looked down to see a boy, perhaps seven or eight, standing there staring at him. It was the little boy in the yellow poofball hat.

“Dude! You're not supposed to talk to strangers!” One of the boy's friends yelled back at him, hastily pulling a brown scarf up over the lower half of his face like a mask. He had a furry orange hat.

“AIGH! It's a sixth-grader!” One of the other boys, a blond with wild hair, screamed.

“What the fuck are you supposed be?” The last pudgy boy in the quartet asked Kyle in a monotone voice, holding onto the tassels of his green chullo hat.

“I'm not sure,” Kyle sighed, looking from boy to boy, and seeing a bit of each and every one of his friends in their faces. _That could have been us, four or five years ago! God, we were tight back then,_ Kyle thought, realizing just how much they'd all begun to drift apart.

Until the ordeal with Kenny, that was.

“Are we just gonna end up being faces without hats, that pass in the hallways now?” Kyle mumbled.

“What?” The boy asked him. “Are you OK? You look really sad, for an elf.”

_I've watched Clyde die, I've seen Stan die, and in every lifetime I've had, Tweek's always dead!_

Kyle then removed his woodland crown, carefully placing it on the surprised little boy's head. He handed him the golf club, too. The snow continued to fall, but something smelling of warmth and sweetness wafted by on the breeze. Kyle realized that he'd stopped just short of _**Tweak Brothers**_.

“You guys like cocoa and biscotti? I'll buy?” Kyle offered, holding the door open.

“Hey, wait, ain't you Ike's big brother?” The nervous blond asked, "Where is Ike, anyhow?"

“Yeah, uh, I'm not sure where he is?” Kyle smiled, realizing that he had no clue who any of Ike's friends were. Ike could just have well been with them.

“Dude! You guys are _legends_! Ike talks about you all the time!”

"He...he does?" Kyle asked, surprised.

"Yeah!"

“Lemme tell you guys a little story, then,” Kyle finally smiled, as the boys filed into the warm coffee shoppe to sit around a corner booth. “See, guys, this one time, there was a Wizard who had a powerful charm, called The Stick of Truth, which was stolen by a Dark Overlord...”

“Don't forget the Thief and the Barbarian,” Tweek cut in, as he came up with notepad in hand.

“Cocoa and biscotti for five,” Kyle smiled, “Yeah, the Thief and the Barbarian -” Kyle began again, but Tweek interrupted.

“Kyle, there's only four of you?” Tweek asked.

Kyle looked around the table, but the little blond boy with unkempt hair was not there.

 _And in every single one of those lifetimes,_ he's _always dead, Kyle!_

 


	13. Coffee Shoppe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of excitement on Saturday night at Tweek's coffee shoppe. Craig Tucker does not approve. Just don't call him 'Cupcake'!  
> This chapter takes place in the Age-12 timeframe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About “Cupcake”. I saw some art where Cartman asked Craig what bees make. Craig said, “Honey,” and Tweek popped in and said, “Yes?” So I got to thinking, what if there were a bake sale, and Wendy asked Tweek what he could bring. He stammers out, “Nrgh...CUPCAKES!” And Craig pops in and says, “Yes?” Just like the other artwork. And someone on Tumblr drew it for me! I was so happy.  
> I'd wanted to get this chapter out before Christmas, but it just didn't work out like that.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 13**

**Coffee Shoppe**

*

Summary: There's a bit of excitement on Saturday night at Tweek's coffee shoppe. Craig Tucker does not approve. Just don't call him 'Cupcake'!

Note: About “Cupcake”. I saw some art where Cartman asked Craig what bees make. Craig said, “Honey,” and Tweek popped in and said, “Yes?” So I got to thinking, what if there were a bake sale, and Wendy asked Tweek what he could bring. He stammers out, “Nrgh...CUPCAKES!” And Craig pops in and says, “Yes?” Just like the other artwork. And someone on Tumblr drew it for me! I was so happy.

*

The snow was still falling as Kyle walked away from Tweek's shoppe. He didn't notice the Christmas decorations, or the county highway department trucks spreading brine and throwing road slop with their front blades. It was South Park, after all. Winter road maintenance went on for about eight months of the year. Tweek had once joked that South Park had two seasons: winter and July. Kyle tended to agree. What they hadn't agreed on was when Kyle had tried to explain to Tweek and the others about what Kenny had told him about dying. He'd waited until Ike's friends (at least, he thought they might be) had thanked him for the treat and left.

The younger boy with the yellow poofball hat had taken his High Jew Elf's crown and golf club, the other two following along behind him with large cardboard tubes from industrial wax paper rolls that Helen Tweak had given them. Tweek had made them newspaper hats. The Ranger and the Paladin led the way in front of the High Elf, already making up their own story about how evil that Overlord Fillmore was, and how he certainly must have “The Artifact”.

But Kyle was still convinced that he'd seen a fourth boy.

He wasn't so convinced that he'd really seen the rest of it, though.

He thought about the younger boys again. He thought about Ike, who was spending the night at Firkle's house again. He thought back on Tweek, as he stood waiting for the crosswalk light to change, seeing his dad coming in the Jetta another block down. He shouldn't have said what he'd said about Tweek. He needed to apologize to Craig, too. Christmas music was playing somewhere in the distance. _**Carol of the Bells**_. But one of the modern versions, with a more violent score.

It wasn't exactly Hanukkah music, and Kyle wasn't feeling up to that, either.

“We're legends,” Kyle had sighed, when Tweek had come over to clear and wipe the table after the boys had left. “Damn, man, we're not even thirteen yet!” He looked down at Tweek, having moved to a higher stool at the counter to have another cocoa with just a tiny shot of espresso. He had homework to do, after all, and the weekend was peaking. Saturday night.

Saturday night at Tweak Brothers. Near Christmas.

Business was dead.

“Argh! We're not old enough to be legends!” Tweek agreed, pouring himself another cup of coffee. Kyle watched him. Tweek noticed. He stopped halfway, topping it off with decaff. “I don't know how so many people can drink this crap! Nrgh!”

“So you're cutting back?” Kyle asked.

“K-Kenny said to,” Tweek agreed, “And Craig,” Tweek's face went a bit pink, “thinks it's a good idea, too.”

“You beat the meth thing, Tweek, you can kick the caffeine, too,” Kyle assured him.

“I'm just glad my dad isn't in prison,” Tweek nodded. Neither of them spoke about it, but it was clear from the looks they exchanged that both boys knew that it had been Mysterion who had beaten Richard Tweak to a pulp, thus putting a stop to his meth-spiked coffee.

“Sucks that they make you work after school too,” Kyle offered, not bringing up the subject of Mysterion. Still, he couldn't help but wonder at how much better Tweek was at not twitching and vocalizing so much. His hair was even combed.

“It's OK, we have lulls in business where I can get homework done,” Tweek explained, “And I get paid, too. It's how I got Stripe #4 you know. That, and Craig comes over to -”

As he said it, the door chime jingled as Craig walked in, just as he did most evenings. Kyle glanced over to see the yellow poofball hat being shaken out, Craig's black hair standing every which way with static. It looked a great deal like Tweek's used to, in fact. They both laughed at him as he stamped snow off his boots on the rug. Craig held up a glove by its middle finger.

“Oh, now that's creative!” Kyle clapped, having missed his chance to talk to Tweek alone.

“Watch this!” Tweek whispered to Kyle, as Craig unwrapped himself and hung up all the outerwear, wiping his feet. “Cupcake?” Tweek called, holding up a tray.

“Yeah, Babe?” Craig responded without looking.

Kyle laughed. Craig flipped him off. Then Craig blushed. It was a shocking display of emotion for him. Then again, just as Tweek wasn't so flighty anymore, Craig wasn't so reserved and quiet.

“So help me, if you tell Cartman this!” Craig threatened him, taking the stool next to Kyle. Tweek brought him a hot cocoa that smelled really sweet, and a chocolate cupcake. He offered to refill Kyle's, but Kyle cited too much sugar.

Tweek made a cup from the no-sugar stash he kept for Scott Malkinson. “Splenda, low carb, kinda bitter,” he explained.

“It's only a matter of time before you slip up, _Cupcake_ ,” Kyle informed Craig, still giggling. “Besides, do you really _care_ what that fat fuck thinks?”

“Not really,” Craig replied.

“I can't believe he didn't come to see Kenny or Butters,” Tweek added. Kyle noticed that he wasn't shaking or having any tics. He dried his hands, surveyed the front of the shoppe, and got his homework out. That, and the tray of unsold cupcakes.

“Tweek spent all day one Sunday making these up to look like guinea pigs,” Craig told Kyle, as he took another one. “I couldn't eat any. It felt like cannibalism.”

“Makes you wish Kenny was here, with this math homework,” Tweek complained.

“He _does_ go through it pretty fast,” Kyle had to agree, giving in and having cupcake too.

“Yeah, who'd'a thought?” Tweek wondered.

“You might as well do this too,” Craig told him, “If you're not done with it already? I can't believe we had this much over the weekend.”

“When there's this much, she never grades it,” Tweek said.

“Tweek?” Kyle asked, “You didn't see that little blond kid with the dull green jacket? The one who... who kinda looked... like you?”

“Who?” Craig asked.

“Kyle came in earlier with some of Ike's buddies,” Tweek explained, nibbling his pencil in thought. Kyle wondered just how much fiber Tweek ingested from eating the ends of his pencils. “Quaid, Conner, and Billy.”

“There was a _fourth_ kid,” Kyle insisted, but Tweek just shook his head. “They called us legends,” Kyle sighed again, deciding to drop it.

But he knew he'd seen that fourth boy.

“That's because you don't know how to walk away from trouble,” Craig reminded him, just as something crashed outside. A snow plow had rammed a car into the front of an artisan cheese shoppe across the street a few doors down, and burst into flames. “Just ignore it. It's none of our business. Just do the math here.”

“ARGH!” Tweek yelped, “What about filling for my cream cheese danishes?”

“Raise the prices, Babe,” Craig advised, as a man with his hair on fire went racing by, screaming.

“But what if - ?” Kyle started, pointing, but Craig literally put his hand over Kyle's mouth as the smell of burning cheese wafted in.

“Not our problem. Our luck, if we intervene, we'll end up in Mongolia or outer space,” Craig reminded him.

“I liked the Mongolians,” Tweek nodded.

“So did I,” Craig agreed, “But see? You were hanging out with Stan's Gang at the time, Tweek, and they dragged you into that whole ordeal when you got kidnapped!”

“How did WE get Tweek kidnapped?” Kyle asked incredulously, “It was some pervert that broke into his room!” Kyle paused, but Craig didn't answer. He was stuck on a proportion ratio problem. “And why was Tweek hanging out with _us_ , anyway?” Kyle wanted to see what Craig would say. He wondered if he might get Craig to remember, and if he did, how he'd react.

Craig shrugged. “Wasn't that when you fired Kenny, and auditioned for a fourth friend?” He smiled at Tweek. “Of course, _Tweek_ would have won!” He smiled at him. Tweek smiled back. They stared at each other across their math homework.

Kyle waited.

“So where was Kenny, then?” Kyle pressed them, raising his voice. He wondered how any homework got done, if all they did was stare at each other. Craig seemed to just shrug it off, but Tweek looked interested.

“How would _I_ know? I always tried to avoid you guys at all costs!” Craig replied, as Kyle showed him how to resolve ratios.

“He was dead,” Tweek then said to himself, twitching a bit as he looked up from his homework with wide eyes. “The Underpants Gnomes squashed him like a bug, with a mining cart!”

“ _What_ did you say?” Kyle gasped, looking up sharply. Tweek squealed and nearly fell off his stool.

“Tweek, we got rid of the Gnomes,” Craig reminded him, taking his hand again, “They're scared silly of that beheaded garden Gnome statue I painted red, to look like he'd been murdered. That, and the Lego traps.”

“So you met the Gnomes?” Kyle pointedly asked Craig.

“Well, yeah?” Craig shrugged, “The first night I stayed over at Tweek's, they showed up at 3:30 in the morning, and I kicked their asses!”

“We went to their hideout! NRGH!” Tweek exclaimed, “And they killed Kenny!”

“Those bastards!” Kyle agreed, noting that Tweek looked how Kyle must have felt when he'd first realized it. For a moment, Kyle thought that Tweek was going to throw up. He sat back down on his stool, holding onto the edge of the countertop as if he were suddenly dizzy. He broke out in a sweat, grabbing a clean towel to wipe his face with cold water.

“Dudes? Kenny _isn't_ dead! He's in Hell's Pass Hospital right now!” Craig reminded them, as the door bells jingled again. They looked up to see Clyde coming in, shaking snow all over.

“ARGH! I just cleaned up in here!” Tweek yelled.

“Relax, I'll get it,” Clyde assured him, hanging up his coat and hat, a rarely seen blue and red reverse of Stan's hat. He tugged off his gloves and hung up his scarf, wiping his feet on the soppy throw rug. Tweek got a fresh one out, handing Clyde the mop.

“David's place is down the road!” Craig pointed, as Clyde finished mopping and tossed his backpack onto the counter.

“Very funny. I called your phone, you didn't answer. Figured you'd be here, Cupcake. This math sucks!” Clyde retorted, helping himself to a cupcake and cocoa and leaving the money on the counter. “Did you notice the cheese shoppe's on fire, guys?”

Kyle snickered at the look Craig gave Clyde.

“Nrgh! We're ignoring it!” Tweek exclaimed.

“Just like I like to,” Craig agreed calmly, as a couple more cars skidded into a fire truck. “Just ignore it. And don't fuckin' call me Cupcake! Only Tweek gets to do that.”

Kyle decided to take advantage of Clyde's arrival, as the sight of him had triggered another memory: R'Lyeh, the lost city of The Old Ones, fallen from the stars and sunken beneath the sea in a parallel dimension.

 _How the hell could I have forgotten that_? Kyle thought.

“Clyde,” Kyle blurted, “Do you remember when Cthulhu banished us all to R'Lyeh?”

Clyde nearly choked on his pastry. Craig pounded his back.

“What the hell are you babbling about now?” Craig asked.

“You weren't there, but Clyde was,” Kyle explained, “Coon and Friends. Clyde used to be Mosquito.”

Clyde was visibly paler, however, and he was shaking.

“I told you not to play with them,” Craig reminded him.

“Wait, that really happened?” Tweek asked, as he came back to the counter.

“Yeah, y-yeah, it did,” Clyde whimpered, putting his hands over his mouth. His eyes went wide, then filled. “And you assholes never believed me! Oh God! It was horrible!”

“Token did, and we didn't believe him, either,” Tweek whispered, turning, but only Kyle heard him.

“God dammit, now you made Clyde cry again,” Craig huffed, “We're never gonna get this math homework done!”

But Clyde was looking worse than Tweek. He stared at Kyle, who glanced over to see that Tweek was staring at Clyde, too.

“Stop staring at my boyfriend,” Craig warned them, not looking up from his homework, as if nothing at all were wrong. He did have a hand on Clyde's arm, though.

“It...it happened!” Clyde gasped, “I'd forgot it!”

“And Kenny?” Kyle asked.

Clyde's jaw dropped. “He was there? He was...he jumped off a _cliff_!” Clyde exclaimed, “Jesus! How could I have _forgot_ that?! He fuckin' _died_ down there, impaled on a crystal spike, and then he came back with Bradley Biggle to rescue us!”

“Mintberry Crunch,” Kyle reminded him.

“Gok'zarah,” Clyde mumbled, his big brown eyes distant, “Bradley's an alien from planet Kokujon!” Clyde sniffled.

“What else is new?” Craig asked, deadpan as usual as he passed Clyde a napkin. “Tweek, Clyde, calm down,” He added out of habit, reaching out without even looking, his hand finding Tweek's apron strings and pulling him over. Craig put his arm around Tweek's waist. “Now do you see why I never wanted to play Superheroes? You end up banished to another dimension, or you find out your friend is an alien. It's just not worth it.”

“But Bradley Biggle _is_ an alien!” Clyde protested, “SHIT! How do you _forget_ that?”

“Maybe he has mind control powers, too?” Craig mused.

“He can fly!” Clyde gasped.

“And I can one-finger-death-flip people,” Craig retorted. “So?”

“Craig, are you sure your parents didn't get you a lobotomy when you were little?” Kyle asked, “This is serious!”

“Damn _straight,_ it is!” Clyde squeaked. “Sorry!” He added, as Tweek and Craig glared at him.

“So you're telling me that Kenny dies all the time, and that he comes back? Like Jesus does?” Craig then asked.

“Jesus only did it three times that I know of,” Kyle shuddered, remembering the time they'd been captured, and he'd had to kill Jesus so that he could resurrect outside the prison cell.

“And yet you're still Jewish?” Clyde asked, pointing at the Christmas tree and apparently hoping to change the subject. He pulled his cocoa and cupcake closer, as if they'd somehow protect him.

“You remember it, Clyde. You _know_ you do!” Kyle told him. “I just realized it today.”

“I don't WANNA remember it!” Clyde retorted.

“Lemme guess, _Kenny_ told you this?” Craig asked, trying to get Tweek focused on his math.

“He did,” Kyle didn't deny it, “And when I looked him in the eyes, that's when I remembered.” Kyle shuddered. Clyde was still staring at him. “It was his eyes,” Kyle explained, “Something's different about him. His eyes were so – I dunno? – hard? Old?”

“This is gonna give me nightmares,” Clyde fretted, “After Kenny knew about me being sick!”

“Clyde -” Craig began, but Clyde cut him off.

“No, Craig! Being cynical isn't gonna make this go away! I remember it now! Kenny died in R'Lyeh!” Clyde thought for a second. “He got killed by the Chinese in dodgeball, too! He was the first one sacrificed to John Elway, when the parents all got sent to prison when we said they were molesting us!”

“He's died dozens of times, maybe a hundred,” Kyle mused, “I thought he was just wanting attention, when he said he couldn't die. Back when Cartman was teamed up with Cthulhu!”

“Yeah, I stayed away from that one,” Craig reminded them.

“Me too!” Tweek exclaimed, glad that he had!

“Yeah, well, we're not the ones in ancient Inca prophecy, either,” Clyde reminded him. “If it hadn't been for you, the Guinea Pirate would have taken over the world!”

“Let's not talk about that, OK? That was those guys' fault,” Craig jerked a thumb at Kyle. “And you're welcome.” Craig glanced out the window at the chaos. People were running here and there, water was freezing, and the firemen were having a rough time as the fire engulfed the cheese shoppe. He sighed and went back to his math.

“Some Saturday night?” Clyde pointed out.

“It's quiet in here,” Tweek offered.

“Just like I like it,” Craig reminded him.

“So you admit it, then?” Kyle pressed him, “There's more out there than just your ho-hum, everyday, boring existence? Hell, I remember this one time, when I questioned my own existence, and I turned into some kind of metaphysical, omniscient being!”

“Om-nisk- **ee** -ent?” Craig wondered, “So now Kenny's omni-whatever, too?”

“He knew about _me_!” Clyde reminded him, savagely biting his cupcake as if it were the pastry's fault. “He knew about my left nut!”

“And _you_ shouldn't be eating that stuff!” Kyle reminded him.

“You guys _really_ believe him?” Craig asked, finally looking up from his homework with a confused expression.

“YES!” Tweek agreed, “And what he said about your car-”

“OK! OK!” Craig put his hands up, “I'll promise that I will never drive Red Racer on Route 285 with Tweek in the car! How's that?”

“But you believe Kenny about someone being out to vandalize it?” Kyle countered. “And what he said about a security camera?”

“That's just pricks being jealous,” Craig shrugged, but he did look back at Tweek. “Look, it's creepy, what he said about Timmy and Clyde, OK?” He paused. “Yeah, Dad put up a camera.”

“Kenny's convinced that you guys are going to get hurt in that car, Craig,” Kyle repeated.

“I'd kill myself before I hurt Tweek!” Craig retorted, but his voice was all wrong. The other three boys noticed it, too, as the jingle bells on the door jingled again

“Clyde, are you ready to go?” Roger Donovan asked, as he walked in with Clyde's little sister.

But when Kyle looked back to his friends at the counter, he gasped.

Craig was putting Clyde's blue poofball hat on Clyde's head. Clyde was bald, and he was thin. Tweek was clearing up the counter, and then after Craig helped Clyde hop down off the stool, Tweek walked him to the door. They were both taller than Clyde.

As Kyle's eyes scanned the somewhat crowded shoppe, he caught site of the little blond boy in the dull green jacket again. He was seated in a booth with a man and woman, laughing, with cream cheese frosting all over his face. The resemblance to Tweek was uncanny. _Where did all these people come from?_

But something didn't look right, and it wasn't just the little boy that, so far, only Kyle had seen. The Christmas lights around the windows looked wrong. Thin trails of light stretched behind each bulb, the way they did when you squinted at them, or crossed your eyes. The edges of Kyle's vision were fuzzy as well, and the moving people seemed to be leaving vapor trails of faint afterimage behind them.

“Thanks for keeping the heat up in here, Tweek,” Mr Donovan said, handing Tweek a five dollar bill. “He needs to get out once in a while.”

“It's just a first relapse, Dad,” Clyde sighed, “I can beat this thing!”

As they headed for the door, the bells jingled again. Kyle jerked his head around to see the father of the little blond boy from the booth walking in, but when he looked back at the booth, it was empty. Glancing around, he saw that the four of them were the only ones there.

The shoppe was nearly empty.

“Kyle?” Clyde asked, running a hand over his mop of thick, shiny hair. “You look like you just saw a ghost?”

“Here you are, Mister Hastings,” Tweek was saying, handing the man a large to-go cup and a wrapped danish.

Kyle stared at him. Mister Hastings, as Tweek had called him, was different. His hair was thinner, his face gaunt, and he stood with a stoop. When he turned to go, he looked at Kyle with bloodshot, haunted eyes. He sniffled, looked away, and wiped the sleeve of his long overcoat across his face.

“Merry Christmas, Teddy, boys,” Mister Hastings mumbled with a nod to them, as he headed out the door and into the gathering gloom of blowing snow.

The bells jingled as he left.

“Kyle?” Craig asked, reaching over to shake his arm, “You OK?”

“Jesus, man!” Tweek gasped, “It creeps me out when he comes in here and calls me 'Teddy'!”

“B-but...but the...booth?” Kyle gasped, pointing, “Clyde? You were...you were...?” Kyle took a deep breath to steady himself. “ _He_ was in the booth, with a lady, and that little blond boy I saw earlier today!”

“You mean Teddy Hastings?” Craig asked.

“Is that his name?” Kyle gasped, looking all around again. “Where'd they all go? All the people that were just here?”

The Christmas lights looked normal again.

“Nrgh! It's been a slow night, man!” Tweek reminded him, coming over to lean on the counter near Kyle. “Kyle, that was Teddy's dad. His wife and little boy were killed when some old people ran them down at the Farmers' Market.”

“Yeah, Ruby knew him,” Craig agreed, his voice echoing.

“ _Who_?” Kyle exclaimed, grabbing Craig's sleeve.

But his hand passed right through it.

“Tricia, my little sister? Teddy was in her class,” Craig explained, putting his hand firmly on Kyle's. “Dude, the hell is wrong with you? That cocoa of Scott's getting to you?”

“You just called her 'Ruby'?” Kyle gasped.

“Why would I do that?” Craig asked in reply.

“Organic honey,” Clyde spoke up, “That artificial sweetener crap will kill you,” he said, looking back at Kyle. “Did you really just see a ghost?”

“Maybe I did?” Kyle said softly, staring again at Tweek. He poked Craig's arm.

“Owww! What the fuck, Dude?” Craig complained, seeming solid enough to Kyle.

“I think Mister Hastings thinks I look like Teddy,” Tweek shuddered, his left eye twitching violently. He warmed his coffee and gulped it. “He comes in here all the time. Sometimes he just sits in that booth,” Tweek pointed, which gave Kyle chills. It was the same booth. “He sits there with his danish, eats maybe half of it, and sometimes he cries.”

“It's OK, Babe,” Craig assured him, taking his free hand, “He's not gonna hurt you. He's just sad, is all. You probably make him feel better.”

Kyle looked back at Clyde. He looked around the room again. “Wasn't your dad just here?”

Clyde looked confused. “No, I walked? Why?”

“But he was...” Kyle pointed to the door, “And your sister? And your dad said it was good for you to get out? And you said...you said you were in remission, but you were bald? And the Hastings were all sitting there?” he pointed to the booth again. “And the lights were all...weird?” Kyle added, his head starting to spin.

“Kyle, you don't look so-” Clyde began, but Tweek was faster. He slid a plastic dishpan towards Kyle, just in time for Kyle to throw up in it.

“GROSS!” Clyde and Craig both shouted.

Once Kyle had recovered and cleaned up in the restroom, he came back to the counter. He sat back down, and Tweek poured him a Sprite to settle his stomach.

“So it was Teddy Hastings that you saw today?” Tweek whispered to him, and Kyle nodded. “Looked kinda like a little me?” Kyle nodded again.

 _Every time I change something, something else goes wrong_! Kyle remembered Kenny telling him.

“Kenny!” Kyle gasped, grabbing his phone. He looked up information, then dialed the hospital.

Nurse Christina answered. “Why yes, Kenny should be discharged tomorrow. He's sleeping right now. Kyle? Yes, your father was just here to pick up some records, and arrange to take him back home for his mother, Carol. Is everything all right, Kyle? You were all so cute in your costumes!”

“Yes, Ma'am, thank you!” Kyle hung up. “Kenny's being discharged tomorrow!”

“What's that got to do with you seeing things and puking?” Craig asked.

 _Dude, this book says there could be infinite, alternate realities to every reality_ , Kyle recalled reading. _Negative and positive are the same. Real and not real are one_. _I don't exist unless I think I do; but what if I don't_? _I can't deal with it, Stan. All this stuff I've been reading, I don't really think I exist. What if thinking about it is the only thing keeping my space-time together? Sometimes, I think I can see time slowing down, my own existence fading! Light is a wave unless it's observed. That means all matter is just a wave. Nothing's real! Oh God, it's happening_! (s04e01 – The Tooth Fairy's Tats 2000)

And then Kyle had...what had he done? He thought he remembered phasing out of existence as he knew it, and suddenly becoming one with everything. It had been chaotic, he remembered. It had been so confusing. He was everywhere, and yet nowhere. And there were colors.

Beautiful colors.

And then he'd come back.

The thing was, he hadn't thought about that in a long time.

 _Something as important as that, and I forgot it? Kenny said he'd come back. I wonder if he – if something – changed?_ Kyle thought, sipping his Sprite. The other three had gone back to doing their homework as if nothing had happened. Kyle borrowed some paper and a pencil from Tweek, and they soon finished.

“Another exciting Saturday night in South Park,” Craig nodded, as the fire department was getting the cheese shoppe fire under control.

“But Craig, I don't know if I can get off next weekend,” Tweek said, as the ambient noise level of the coffee shoppe went way up.

Kyle flinched at the sound of his raspy alto voice, and when he looked up again, the place was filled with teenagers. Music was playing, the Christmas decorations were gone, and there were even couples dancing in the center of the room. Stan and Wendy were in a small booth. So were Lisa and Scott. Clyde and Bebe were dancing. Just about everyone was there, even Kenny and Butters. Craig was leaning over the counter, telling Tweek something.

Kyle gasped as Craig then grabbed Tweek's apron, pulling him over the counter and kissing him squarely on the mouth. It wasn't a peck, either. It was a passionate kiss that made Tweek drop his order pad in the sink. Several people whistled and clapped. Craig just raised his eyebrows as he broke the kiss, waving. Kyle noticed the Gay Pride flag sewn on his jacket sleeve, along with a couple of gold hash marks like the military rank of Corporal. And a patch with a Japanese character, too. Kyle made to hop down from his stool, but he stumbled as his feet touched the floor far too quickly. Craig caught him.

“Kyle, you OK? Tweek, he's had too much espresso – you better cut him off!” Craig laughed.

Craig Tucker was laughing in a crowded public place.

“This is pretty fucked up!” Kyle quoted Stan, looking around to see the same distortions around the lights, and the same trails coming off of the people.

“What say we drive up to Stark's Pond when you close up?” Craig asked Tweek, “I wanna see how well these new tires grip!”

“That's not _all_ he wants to grip!” Clyde called out.

“Next weekend?” Kyle asked, his own voice sounding as if he were down a well.

“I'm taking Tweek to Denver!” Craig told Kyle.

“Oh! You're not going up 285 are you?” Kyle asked, confused, looking around at all the people. He didn't remember the shoppe _ever_ being so busy. At least, not when he was twelve. Even the Goth Kids were there, having coffee and smoking in the far booth. He even thought he saw Cartman at the counter, ordering something from the dessert case. He looked to side, and saw Ike with Firkle, who wasn't dressed all in black. As Kyle did a double-take, he saw that they were holding hands.

Craig then nudged Kyle, and his face hardened. “We've been on that for four years, Kyle. I've driven that road dozens of times. It's a great stretch of pavement to test out Red Racer's mods. There's almost no traffic on 285 on a Friday night. It'll be fine!”

“NO! It WON'T!” Kyle screamed in Craig's face, noting the five o'clock shadow on his face, the different haircut, the earring, and the sound of his much deeper voice. _This is four years in the future! We're seventeen!_ Kyle realized, feeling panic setting in. _Oh my God, is this what's been happening to Kenny? Did I just lose myself again?_ “YOU'LL KILL HIM IF YOU MAKE THAT TRIP!” Kyle then screamed in Craig's face, horrified that he was seeing exactly what Kenny had told him coming to pass right before his eyes.

Even after four years of knowing, Craig was still planning on taking 285 with Tweek!

“Tweek, what the hell was in that Sprite?” Craig asked, as Kyle nearly pulled him off his feet.

“Oh, sweet! Fight!” Eric Cartman exclaimed, as the doorbells jingled again and he walked in.

“ARGH! NO! Kyle nearly fainted!” Tweek replied, “And we're about to close!”

Kyle blinked and looked around. It was just the five of them. Cartman must have just come in. Then Kyle realized how Craig was looking at him. Kyle let go of him.

“What do you mean, I'll kill him if I take 285?” Craig demanded, his voice unsteady. “Is _that_ what Kenny said? Are you telling me that Butters _lied_ to us at your house?”

“Oh, shit!” Clyde breathed.

“KILL ME?!” Tweek yelled.

“Can I get a Longhorn, custard filled, and an extra large cocoa with whipped cream, oh! And a chocolate iced cake doughnut with sprinkles?” Cartman asked. Tweek just pointed at the case, never taking his eyes off of Kyle and Craig. “Fine,” Cartman complained, “But it's half price, then for self-serve!”

“I...I'm t-twelve?” Kyle whispered, touching Craig's smooth face.

“Dude! What are you do - your _hand's_ hot!” Craig flinched, putting his hand on Kyle's forehead. “Aw, shit, Kyle! You're burnin' up! No wonder you puked! Now we'll all have it!”

“Kyle, just sit down and relax, Dude!” Clyde took his arm.

“Who's gonna kill Tweek?” Cartman asked.

“AIGH!” Tweek yelped.

“No one's gonna kill anyone,” Craig stated.

“Is this some kinda gay Hanukkah thing, Kahl?” Cartman snickered.

“B-but I … I saw it?” Kyle stammered, feeling the sweat under his clothes. “This place was packed? And you had your jacket on?” Kyle looked at Craig's sleeve, where there weren't any patches sewn on. He clutched Clyde's sleeve as well, as if hanging onto Reality itself.

 _I am everything, and nothing_!

“So you were gonna close at six, Tweek?” Cartman asked, spinning around on the stool and stopping to watch the cheese shoppe disaster.

The bells jingled again, and Kyle jumped. “AIGH!”

“AIGH!” Tweek copied him.

“Dudes,” Stan held the door, as Butters came hobbling in, “We've been catching rats at Kenny's for four hours now! Mom's freaking out, and Karen's got them in the car in a cat carrier. What do we do with them?”

“Hang on, I wanna know who's gonna kill who? Is it Kahl?” Cartman laughed again.

“Sorry, I...I don't feel so good,” Kyle apologized, as Craig and Clyde finally let go of him.

“OK, apparently Splenda makes you hallucinate, or you're delirious,” Craig said to Kyle, his tone more icy than usual. “Why don't you call your dad, have him come pick you up? Go cool off outside, OK?”

“Y-yeah,” Kyle agreed, “Thanks, Craig. I...I'm sorry?”

Craig walked him out the door as Stan and Butters sat down at a table. “Missus Marsh?” Craig said, walking up to the Jeep Cherokee, “Just leave the rats here. I'll take them home with me. I've already got Butters' hamsters, so I guess I'll start a rodent boarding house, OK?”

“Oh, please do, Craig!” Sharon almost cried, as Karen handed him the pet carrier. “I couldn't believe it when Stanley called me! Should I take Karen to your house? Randy left the McCormick house a disaster area, and Carol's a bit, uhm, wasted!”

“Yeah, Tweek's going home with me tonight, but Tricia is expecting her, thank you,” Craig agreed. “Please my folks know that I'm gonna stay and help Tweek close.”

“Thank you!” Karen piped up.

“Rats!” Sharon complained, as she rolled up the window and drove off.

“What the hell was all that?” Craig then asked Kyle, pointing at the shoppe door. “Are you telling me that Kenny thinks that I'm gonna _kill_ Tweek in a wreck in four years? You said 'hurt,' not fucking DEAD!”

“Craig, I saw...just like I saw Teddy Hastings! I _saw_ you! You were older. The place was packed! We were all older! You had different braces, straighter teeth, and your hair was … was,” Kyle wondered how to say it. “It was shaved up the back and one side, like a quiff cut. And you were going to take Tweek to Denver! You had an earring! And you wanted to … wanted to go to Stark's Pond, you had new tires, and -”

“So now _you're_ having visions too?” Craig crossed his arms and huffed. “It's no secret that Red Racer's tires are all dry rotted.”

 _I am nothing, and everything_! Kyle remembered again, his head spinning. He called his dad to come and pick him up.

“Kyle, how do you know about our spot at Stark's Pond?” Craig then asked, his eyebrows creased and his voice not so harsh. “I never told anyone, because I don't think Tweek could take it if we got, you know, fag-bashed.”

“Awww!” Kyle groaned, clenching his eyes shut and holding up his hands as if to say 'stop', “I _didn't_! I mean, you just said it! You WILL say it! I mean...I...Dude! I _didn't_ wanna know that!” Kyle spluttered. “I think I'll just walk on...up that way, and wait for Dad?”

“OK,” Craig nodded, “And Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't ever say that shit in front of Tweek, or grab me again. It's gonna take me half the night to calm him down now,” Craig informed him.

“But you believe me? Believe Kenny?”

Craig didn't answer right away. He watched the firemen, who were nearly finished, some of them heading to the coffee shoppe.

“He said some things that hurt me, too, Craig,” Kyle added, “Things he couldn't have known.”

“Were they right?” Craig asked.

“Yes.”

“I've already said all I'm gonna say about how I feel about Tweek,” Craig reminded him. Whether it was the cold or not, Craig sniffled and wiped his face. He gave Kyle a look that more than said that their conversation was over.

Kyle turned to go. Craig watched him walk up the block, then stand at the crosswalk. When the light changed, Kyle crossed. A car pulled up, and Craig recognized the Jetta. Kyle got in.

“Now for Tweek,” Craig sighed, as he went back inside the shoppe, ignoring the chaos going on around him. Someone hit a control for the fire truck ladder wrong, and tore down a stoplight. Sparks were flying, wires were sizzling. “Nope, not gonna look. Walking away.”

“Oh, sick!” Cartman was saying, “Kenny trained his rats?”

“Well, now, Eric, uhm, you be nice! Drogon here don't like loud noises!” Butters warned him, as the rat sat on his shoulder and hissed at Cartman.

“Hamsters, guinea pigs, and rats?” Stan asked.

“Oh my,” Craig sighed.

“CRAIG!” Tweek yelled, “Where'd Kyle go?”

“Home, Babe. He's sick.”

Tweek, naturally, wasn't buying it. He was on the verge of a meltdown, in fact. Craig calmly explained it all to him, steering him into a booth with a view. The cheese shoppe was pretty much gone, and the water spray had made interesting ice formations that reflected the Christmas lights in a dazzling display. Craig pointed all this out, too, as Clyde brought them hot cocoa.

“Drink your cocoa, Babe,” Craig repeated, “Calm down. Kyle's running a high fever. He was babbling all the way to his dad's car. He's gonna get a cool bath when he gets home, just like we're gonna have a nice, _hot_ bath when _we_ get home.”

“NRGH! But he said someone was gonna **kill** me!” Tweek repeated, twitching and shivering.

“He didn't know what he was saying, Tweek,” Craig repeated, tightening his grip on Tweek's hands. He slipped a hand down to Tweek's knee, pulling him over with his other so that Tweek's head was on his shoulder. “I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you, Babe.”

“That's so sweet!” Cartman drawled, watching Tweek and Craig, as Clyde had assumed the role of waiter.

“This is really good,” Stan commented on the cocoa. “What's in it?”

“Honey, natural stevia, a little heavy cream for the design on top, and some nutmeg,” Clyde replied, “Extra chocolate. Shaken, not stirred! It's very soothing.”

“I like it!” Butters agreed, as Kenny's rats nibbled cookies and glared at Cartman. It was clear that they didn't like him, but that they _did_ like Butters and Stan.

“Trained rats!” Cartman snorted, “Poor piece'a crap can't even afford a hamster!”

“So how are pet store rats any different?” Butters asked, but Cartman ignored him.

“So, Kenny gets discharged tomorrow?” Stan asked, ignoring Cartman as well, “I think I heard his mom saying that?”

“Yeah, that's what Kyle said,” Craig agreed. “Tweek, let Clyde handle business, OK?” He pulled Tweek back down as he'd gotten up.

“Nrgh! I know what you're doing! This cocoa has nutmeg in it! You know what nutmeg does to me!” Tweek protested.

“Is it gonna work?” Craig smiled at him.

“It's starting to really come down out there,” Stan pointed out, as a pickup truck when sliding sideways down the road.

CRASH!

Stan and Cartman went to the window to look.

“Oh, kewwwwwl!” Cartman drawled, “He slid right into that hippie gift shop!”

“Just ignore it,” Craig advised, as more red and blue lights began to flash.

“You know, I bet those firemen and cops are gonna be cold, and want coffee? And food? A couple already been in here,” Clyde remarked, which, of course, set Tweek off all over again. It did, however, distract him from thinking that someone was going to kill him as he wanted to make more coffee and fetch more food from the back.

Clyde walked him right back to the booth again. “I know where the stuff is, Tweek.”

“Tweek, _please_?” Craig asked, “Please, just sit here with me, OK?”

The door bells jingled again, and PC Principal walked in, shaking snow from his parka. “Tweek?” He called, looking around, “Oh, there you are!” He spotted the boys. “Tucker, you got informed consent there?”

“Yes, sir,” Craig sighed. “I know the proper way to rub another boy's thigh, sir.”

“Argh!” Stan groaned, plunking his head down on the table.

“Good! It's a night not fit for man or beast out there! I need some of those nutty, creamy pastries for tomorrow morning, before I forget! Big party at my house tonight, and we'll need some brunch tomorrow, gimme those wrapped breakfast rolls, too,” The Principal told them. “Strong Woman likes a Sunday brunch, you know.”

“Just follow Clyde, sir. Tweek's upset,” Craig told him, as some more firemen came in.

“I see,” the Principal nodded, “I'd suggest a hot bath with lavender, chamomile tea, low lights, candles, some instrumental music...”

“Nrrrrrgh!” Tweek growled, hiding his face in Craig's shoulder. The other boys stifled their laughter, figuring that their Principal might have already gotten his party started.

“Oh! You think Strong Woman parties?” Cartman whispered to Stan.

“She seems like the type!” Stan agreed.

“Tweek will be fine, sir,” Craig told the Principal.

“I wasn't talking about _Tweek_ , there, Cupcake,” PC Principal replied, grinning, “ _You_ don't look so good! Someone gay-shaming you, Bro? Who was it? I'll break his legs!”

“How romantic!” Cartman laughed. “Cupcake!”

“I will kick your ass, Cartman!” Craig warned him.

“Nothing wrong with a bit of romance, Bro!” PC Principal warned him, as Clyde rang him up. “Informed consent, Tucker!” He reminded Craig on the way out.

“Dude! We're _twelve_!” Craig protested, rubbing Tweek's back.

“Didn't stop _me_ when _I_ was twelve?” PC Principal shrugged, as out the door he went. Then he popped back in. “And remember, you'll need a separate consent form if you -”

“SIR?!” All the boys gasped, as he shut the door again.

“Did that just happen?” Stan wondered, looking stunned.

“Well, uhm, I think it sounds romantic!” Butters offered.

“This is getting too exciting,” Craig complained, as Clyde started a fresh urn of coffee and went looking for more pastries in the back. “Tweek, we're here enough to know what to do,” Craig assured him again, “I'm not going to let anyone hurt you! I don't give a fuck what Kyle said!”

“Ha! Leave it to Kyle!” Cartman laughed, “Stupid Jew!”

“Cartman,” Stan sighed, “Just drop it, OK? Damn!”

“Bet you wouldn't be so bitchy, if there was a shot of Jameson in that cocoa?” Cartman replied, smirking, as Clyde handed him his bill. “I'm not payin' this! I had to get half of it myself, 'cause the waiter was freakin' out!”

Stan glared at him. “You're going there?”

“I been, and gone!” Cartman laughed.

“Dine and dash, huh?” Clyde smirked at Cartman, going to the door. “DETECTIVE YATES?” He yelled to the crowd of police over at the smoldering cheese shoppe.

“FINE!” Cartman complained, tossing the money on the floor and getting up to leave. “This place is getting too gay for me, anyway! Screwwwww you guys, I'm _goin_ ' home!”

“Don't let the door hit you on your, uhm, fat ass there, on the way out!” Butters put in.

Cartman paused, pointing at him. Drogon hissed at him again. “Stupid poor piece of crap, you fags deserve each other!” Cartman was muttering, as he stepped out the door and promptly slipped and fell.

Craig snorted. Tweek burst out laughing as Cartman tried to get back up, and failed. His mom pulled up in her van and slid into a fire hydrant, which exploded.

“He hurt?” Stan wondered.

“No, I think his ass broke his fall,” Clyde mused, as more firemen came in.

“Now _this_ is fun!” Craig pointed out. “It's all out there, and we're all in here.”

“What about me?” Stan asked, picking up on the hint.

“Just watch it, but don't get involved in it,” Craig advised.

“A little help here?” Clyde called, becoming overwhelmed with the firemen's orders.

“I'm sorry, Craig,” Tweek offered, kissing his cheek quickly, and getting back to work.

“How do you _do_ that with him?” Stan asked Craig, “A minute ago, he was a wreck?”

“It's all in the hands,” Craig replied, his face serious, as if nothing at all had been wrong. Still, Craig's hands were shaking, and Stan noticed it.

“Kyle told you something that Kenny said?” Stan asked.

“Yeah,” Craig admitted, “It bugs me, OK? You know I'm not, I mean, I don't deal with shit like this too good, not like you guys do.”

“What's _that_ supposed to mean?” Stan asked.

“You're used to weird shit happening,” Craig replied, “I'm not, OK? And Kyle got all weird in here, threw up, and said he saw some kind of,” Craig paused. “I dunno what he thought he saw. He was babbling about seeing some dead kid that Tricia knew, then he thought the place was packed, and that we were all older.”

“A vision?” Stan wondered, “I had a vision once, when the whole town had SARS. It was scary as hell!”

“Well, uhm, I should probably call Mrs Broflovski,” Butters interrupted, “It's getting busy in here, and I'm really tired.”

“If Kyle's sick, you better go home with me,” Stan told him. “Leave the rats with Craig.”

Outside, Cartman was getting soaked. The water was beginning to freeze, making even more of a mess.

“Should we do something for that fat kid?” One of the firemen asked, nibbling a pastry.

Outside, Cartman was still trying trying to get up, and still failing. He was cursing his mother, the fire department, hippies, and anyone else he could think of.

“Nah, let him fumble around a little longer, sir,” Craig advised, smirking.

Outside, it might have been chaotic. But inside, it was warm and orderly. Just the way that Craig Tucker liked it.

 


	14. Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanukkah is starting, and Grandma Stotch is in town. The Freedom Pals Reunited take on Queen Torpedo Tits. Kenny begins to suspect that his dreams aren't just dreams, and encounters a new complication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm not setting years or checking dates for Hanukkah. Just use your imagination.
> 
> Warnings: Fight scene. That's why it's so long. Violence, injuries, and death.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 14**

**Ripples**

Seventeen year old Craig Tucker moaned in his sleep, rolling over to snuggle the long body pillow that kept him off of the bed's safety rail. It wasn't often that he remembered his dreams, but he'd awakened the previous morning having done just that. He'd tried to tell Nurse Gollum about it, but with his halting speech, he hadn't been able to get much of it out before he'd become frustrated and given up. Fortunately, as he was left-handed, he was able to write it down. He'd spent most of the day doing that, but hadn't shown anyone. It was, after all, something to do.

The problem was the dream itself.

Craig didn't remember much about his accident, but he did remember that he'd had a car. He'd had a red Corvette that he'd named 'Red Racer', after his favorite cartoon character's car. He knew he'd been in the hospital for a long time after the wreck, and that Clyde and his other friends were trying to put the car back together for him. But Craig didn't think he'd ever be able to drive it again, even if they succeeded. After all, he couldn't use his right arm and leg, and it was all he could do to even talk to his friends. Most of the time, he used his left hand to operate the speech processor that Timmy had given him. After all, Timmy and Jimmy were his best friends. They were patient with him, because they knew what it felt like to have a disability. Jimmy called Craig “Professor”, because the vocalizer sounded like Stephen Hawking's. Professor Hawking was cool, because he knew all about outer space.

Craig's sister, Tricia, had read his notes that afternoon after school, but she'd thought that Craig was writing a science fiction story.

“It's really good, Craig,” she'd told him, “Why don't you work on it some more tonight, and when Teddy and I get back from the movie, we'll read it together?”

The problem was, that Craig felt like it wasn't a story.

He thought it was real.

And so Craig did that, trying to not think about how much he didn't like Tricia spending so much time with Teddy Hastings.

As he wrote, he thought about how strange of a thing that memory was. He remembered how to write. He remembered grammar and spelling. He even remembered math. Most of it, at least. He remembered how things worked, like the gears in a bike's axle, or how to build an engine. He didn't do so well with people or places, though. It had taken him a long time to not yell in panic when Nurse Gollum came in, and he still wasn't sure if the blonde lady that was always there was his mother or not.

And he didn't know who the blond boy in his dream was, either. It didn't help that he wouldn't tell Craig his name – or if he did, Craig just didn't remember it.

The boy was always there, though. Sometimes, he was walking along the highway like he was hitchhiking. That, or looking for something. The boy seemed to know Craig, though, as he always called him by name and was friendly. As Craig remembered the dream more times, he knew that it was always the same. There were little differences sometimes, but not anything big. Most of the time, he'd end up walking along the highway. One of those little differences was that sometimes he used a cane. Sometimes, he just limped a little. Now and then, he'd dream that he was using crutches like Jimmy did. Still, there were other times when he'd be rolling along in a wheelchair like Timmy's.

In the dream, Craig and his friend would look at tire marks on the pavement. The tire marks began, as if someone had locked his brakes. Then they stopped, as if the driver had changed his mind. The marks began again, with little piles of rubber at their start. Craig thought that those meant that the car had suddenly accelerated for all it was worth, burning the back tires as it did. The tracks swerved and skipped, as if the next gear or two had been hit, breaking contact for just a bit, before burning again. The tracks ended abruptly, though, where they almost met another set of double and wider tracks from the opposite direction.

As Craig wrote once again, he remembered something else: there were tire tracks in the other lane, but they were really short, shaped like little S's. He'd never seen those before.

“What do you think this means?” Craig asked his friend, in the dream where he'd pointed them out. That was another thing that Craig liked about the dream – he could talk.

“I never saw these before,” the blond boy wondered, getting down on his hands and knees to examine them.

“Why do you always keep looking over at the grass?” Craig asked him, just like he did every night.

And just like every night, the blond boy told him that he thought he'd seen something there. But Craig knew better than to ask. The boy would never tell him, or let him go and look. He'd always take his hand and lead him the other way. Sometimes they would sit under the big 285 sign. Other times, they'd just walk. They never got anywhere, but Craig didn't care. He just liked to walk, being outside, feeling the wind, and wondering why he wasn't cold.

“Dreams are funny like that,” his friend told him.

“The wind almost sounds like someone talking,” Craig would often point out.

His friend would agree, and they'd listen for a while, holding hands and trying to figure out what it was. Craig liked holding his hand. It made him feel safe, even though he knew it was a dream. Sometimes they would count cars. Sometimes there weren't any cars.

Sometimes, there was lightning.

*

“There was someone else there last night, too,” Craig thought, nibbling at his pencil. “Don't do that, you'll get lead poisoning,” he remembered, so he wrote that down, too. Then he stopped to look at his chewed pencil. Someone else used to do that, and Craig remembered getting on them about it. “Must have been Clyde,” he thought, as he wrote some more.

*

“Who's that?” Craig asked his friend, as lightning flashed and the wind blew.

“Who?” The blond boy asked.

“Over there?” Craig pointed, “That little bald boy?”

“It looks like a future person, you know, a Gooback?” The boy guessed.

“I remember them!” Craig smiled, “They came back in time to find jobs!”

“Hello?” The bald boy greeted them. “Where am I?”

“I thought this was _my_ dream?” Craig wondered.

“My name is Korx,” the bald boy said, his accent thick and strange. The boys all introduced themselves, but for life of him, Craig couldn't remember his friend's name once he'd said it.

“Are you from the future?” The blond boy asked Korx.

“Well, I guess so,” Korx replied, “Or at least, I _was_.”

“What do you mean?” Craig asked.

“My family came back in time, but the people here didn't like us. So they started doing things to change the future, and I was wiped out of existence,” Korx explained. “The doorway was/is right over there,” he pointed past the highway sign, where lightning flashed around a glowing doorway of sorts.

“If you never existed, how can you be here?” The blond asked.

“How can I be dreaming you?” Craig asked, “If I never met you?”

“I know you, Craig,” Korx replied, “I sat by you in school, in Mister Garrison's class.” He then turned to the blond. “You're making a real mess of things for us, you know.”

“Sorry,” the blond replied, “I'm new at this.”

“New at what?” Craig wondered.

“Altering the future,” Kenny McCormick told him bluntly, “You see, I came back in time, too. A lightning strike killed me, and when I woke up, I was back in time.”

“Something really bad happened?” Korx asked.

“I was in a wreck,” Craig nodded.

“It wasn't supposed to happen,” Kenny repeated.

“How do _you_ know?” Korx replied. “For all you know, that wreck might have prevented someone dangerous in my time from ever being born?”

“I thought you said you were never born?” Craig asked.

“I was, then I wasn't,” Korx explained, “Because when we came back, things got changed. It's very dangerous, you know. We found that out the hard way.”

“Tell me about it,” Kenny sighed, as the boys just walked along the highway.

“Looks like someone coming head-on here swerved off the shoulder?” Korx observed, “You didn't have flying cars, did you?”

“Red Racer could almost fly!” Craig smiled. “She was fast!”

“Too fast,” Kenny agreed, looking at the marks and remembering something else. “Jimmy said there were four lights.”

“Yeah, I told him about seeing four lights!” Craig agreed, “I think someone hit me head-on?”

“They did, a semi truck,” Kenny nodded, studying the other skinny tire prints that were short and S-shaped. “This looks like a car behind the truck, that came out, then swerved?”

“Looks like a game of chicken to me,” Korx agreed.

“How do you know about that?” Craig wondered.

“You play chicken at near the speed of sound, about ten-thousand feet up, it's exciting!” Korx laughed.

“Sounds like a good way to get killed,” Kenny sighed.

“So is messing with a Timeline that you know nothing about,” Korx reminded him.

“I know enough,” Kenny retorted.

“Enough to play God?” Korx asked.

“There was another car involved!” Kenny snapped, putting it all together, “Another car behind the semi truck caused this!”

“Very good,” Korx smiled, as he then began to fade.

“Korx!” Craig exclaimed, “What's happening?”

“Kenny just killed me,” Korx sighed, “Again. Or rather, made sure that I won't be born. Again. Thanks for that!” Korx rolled his eyes.

“It happens every time,” Kenny sniffed, biting his lower lip, “Every time I change something, every time I save someone, someone _else_ dies! I'm sorry, Korx!”

But Korx was gone.

In the western sky, the miasma of unknowable colors began to form up again. The stormfront, as it were, grew in size. The mountains in the distance disappeared in its wake, as did the flat land beneath it, as it advanced.

“Is that a big deal?” Craig asked, not having looked up yet. “The other car? That was why I saw four lights, wasn't it?”

“Yes!” Kenny exclaimed, “If this is real, and I'm pretty sure it is, that means the wreck wasn't your fault – or the trucker's fault!”

Then Craig looked up. “That's pretty! It's like a wild rainbow storm!”

Again, Kenny took his hand as the boys stood on the stretch of deserted, bloody highway to watch the storm roll in.

The voice on the wind seemed to sing: “I love you...” it sang, the word 'love' echoing in impossibly complex harmony. Kenny thought he recognized the song, until he realized that it wasn't a woman singing it at all – it was a boy-alto with a raspy voice.

“It's changing again,” Kenny breathed, “Maybe for the better!”

Then Craig Tucker screamed.

Kenny felt Craig pulling him into an embrace. Craig was pointing at something in the grass, and Kenny knew what it was before he even turned to look.

He knew that he would see a pale, bloody hand reaching out of the tall grass.

He knew that the hand would be attached to an arm in a green-printed shirt sleeve.

“Don't look, Craig,” Kenny said, forcing Craig's head into his shoulder to wait for the storm to take them, too.

*

Craig dropped his pencil as he recalled that part of his dream.

“Tweek!” He breathed the word, backing his wheelchair away from the desk as if it were some sort of monster.

And then seventeen year old Craig Tucker began to scream.

*

On a snowy Sunday morning, twelve year old Kenny McCormick awoke in his hospital bed. He was getting used to having the same dream every night, and this time, he did not scream. Still, he thought he heard someone else screaming. He quickly grabbed his notebook and a pencil from the bedside table, and began to write before any of the details slipped away.

“Craig was there in my dream this time. Craig's never been there before. The same highway. The same spot. The spot where he crashed. 285. I don't know why I'd dream older-Craig. There was another boy. He was bald. It wasn't Clyde being sick again.” Kenny stopped to think. He had to get it down before it slipped away. “He was a Gooback. He was from the future that we all changed, by being nice, then by being gay. His name was 'corks'. Phonetic spelling. Korx?” Kenny noted, “He said I killed him. Figures. Every time I change something, someone else dies. But he showed me tire tracks I never saw before. There was Red Racer, the truck, and smaller tire prints. There was a car behind the truck. It might have come at Craig head-on and made him swerve. Maybe he thought he could beat the truck? Korx said something about playing chicken. Was someone playing chicken with Craig? The car could have come out from behind the truck, and into Craig's lane. Korx accused me of playing God. What the hell is a Gooback doing in my dreams?”

Kenny then began to sketch. He wasn't artistic like Leo, but he had to try and remember the pattern of the car tire prints that Korx had shown him.

“Just what I fucking needed, another friend who's a thousand years in the future, that I might kill, too!” Kenny complained, as he tried to draw the tire pattern as best he could. He worked on it until one of the other nurses came in. Kenny wasn't sure of her name.

“You're being discharged today, Kenny! Isn't that wonderful?”

“Not really,” Kenny replied.

“Why not?” The nurse asked.

“Because this is a nice bed, it's warm here, and there's plenty of food, Ma'am,” Kenny sighed, thanking all that was Holy for Tweek and the Tuckers taking Karen in while he was down.

“Your mother should be here any time,” the nurse added.

“Lovely,” Kenny sighed, “So where am I going?”

“Home, I'd guess?” The nurse shrugged. “You want breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Kenny nodded, “Guess so.”

He'd just finished eating when the Broflovski Family arrived with Butters and Stan. For just a moment, Kenny looked at the pair of them, remembering. Things were different now, of course, but Kenny felt like things might be changing again. Maybe Stan and Kyle were getting close again, things wouldn't turn out so badly for the both of them after all. He lost that train of thought, though, when he saw Butters standing there on his crutches.

Butters looked terrible. He took the chair by Kenny's bed and grabbed his hand.

“Uhm, Grandma hits town today,” Butters explained, fidgeting.

“She's already emailed a power of attorney, as far as the house and finances,” Gerald explained, “Do you know what that means, Kenny? I've explained it to Butters, too.”

“It means that all hell's gonna break loose tomorrow morning in family court, if it's anything like those reruns on TV?” Kenny nodded.

“She's got a pretty strong case for getting custody,” Gerald admitted, “And even with what Butters has told me, and what Kyle and Stan and some others have confirmed, it's still shaky. I don't think the judge is going to take the word of a bunch of boys over his next-of-kin guardian.”

“We'll worry about that tomorrow, sir,” Kenny shrugged. “So until then, where do I go?”

“With us, if you want to,” Kyle offered, “So we can talk...and stuff?”

Kenny raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, dad's pretty much wrecked your place,” Stan told him, “But we got all the good rats. Craig's babysitting them.”

Kenny sighed in relief. It was sort of embarrassing, admitting that his beloved pets were wild rats that he'd made friends with.

“So, are you ready to get out of here?” One of the nurses asked, as she popped in.

“How am I gonna get around?” Kenny wondered, “I tried the crutches last night, but it hurts my rib too much? And I got dizzy.”

“TIMMY!” Timmy shouted, as he came rolling in with his spare wheelchair in tow. “K-Kenny?” He smiled.

“Timmy thought it up all by himself!” Butters nodded happily, “He says you can use it until you're better.”

Stan handed him his backpack. “Picked these up for you. Dude, is brown hoodies and orange coats all the clothes you own?”

“I'm not the trendy sort,” Kenny sighed.

“You need some help, Ken?” Butters asked, jerking his head at the door. The others picked up on it.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Kenny agreed, as the rest of them filed out.

“How long you think this is gonna last?” Stan whispered to Kyle, as they waited in the visitors' lounge. “I mean, shit? Kenny's gay? When did _that_ happen?”

“I think it started when he dressed up as the Princess, and Butters got that crush on him. Her. Whatever!” Kyle nodded thoughtfully.

“It was a cool idea to dress up, to cheer him up,” Stan then mentioned, “Almost felt like old times.”

Kyle nodded. “You coming over, too? I mean, if you don't have anything to do? Unless Wendy is-”

“Nah, Wendy's family is going to see her aunt in Conifer today,” Stan replied. “I was kinda surprised to see you at Tweek's last night? You never hang out there.”

“That's where I just sort of ended up,” Kyle shrugged. “You ever really talk to Craig?”

“Why would I _want_ to?” Stan smirked.

“He's really complex,” Kyle told him.

“Do tell?” Stan raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Tweek sorta had a meltdown last night, but by the time it was over, I think Craig was the one who needed Tweek to settle _him_ down?” Kyle theorized.

“I always thought Craig was a better Vulcan than Kevin Stoley,” Stan replied, just as Timmy and Kenny went rolling by, full throttle, down the hallway. A nurse was chasing them, shouting at them to slow down. Butters came hobbling along behind on his crutches.

“LIVIN' A LIE!” Timmy shouted. “Timmy wins!”

“Dude, this is some pretty fucked up shit, right there!” Stan pointed, mouth agape.

“He's had that chair hopped up,” Kyle speculated, as they chased down the racers and got loaded up to go home. “Remember when my neighbors turned Timmy's chair into a time machine, so that we could go back to third grade?”

“No?” Stan shrugged.

“Kyle,” Kenny whispered to him, as Kyle bent down to check his seatbelt. “I can do that myself. What are you doing?”

“Something freaky happened to me last night, Kenny. I think I...I went forward in time, or had a vision or something?” Kyle replied.

“We'll talk about this later,” Kenny slightly inclined his head.

*

The Broflovski house smelled of food when they arrived, as Sheila was preparing for Hanukkah. Having never had a kosher meal, Kenny couldn't help but wonder what was in store. Still, it wasn't City Wok or hospital food, so he was willing to try anything.

As the boys had nothing better to do on a Sunday, Kyle called up Tweek and Craig to see if they wanted to come over. Kenny just listened, wondering why Kyle would be calling Craig, as Gerald showed him the small guest room on the lower floor.

“Butters has been staying here, but I assume that you...?” Gerald asked Kenny.

“We can share a bed, thank you,” Kenny nodded, “If that's OK with you?”

“No funny business!” Gerald warned him. “Kenny,” he then bent to whisper, “Do you know anything about Kyle's, uhm, social life? We're a little worried, after the thing with Heidi, that he's never really had a girlfriend?”

“Kyle's not gay, sir,” Kenny told him, “In case you're worried. He's just not interested. In anything.”

“Is this one of those things that you know?” Gerald asked, having been privy to some of Kenny's predictions already.

Kenny nodded. “So you believe me?”

“I think I do,” Gerald agreed, “That thing with Clyde was pretty convincing.”

*

Tweek and Craig soon arrived with Butters' hamsters and Kenny's rats. The boys slipped them into the guest room without telling Kyle's parents. Sheila invited them to stay for dinner as well.

“It's OK, if I'm Buddhist?” Tweek asked.

“Perfectly fine,” Sheila assured him, “I hope you like brisket, kugel, and latkes?” She explained what they were.

“Thanks for coming,” Kyle offered, as they settled in to play Xbox. “Look, guys, I'm sorry, but something happened last night at the shoppe, and I wanted to apologize.”

“So you're over that bug already?” Craig asked, and Kyle just nodded.

“You never hang out at Tweek's?” Kenny asked, feeling the hairs on his nape stand up. “What happened?”

“Well, uhm, the cheese shoppe burnt down!” Butters put in, as they all took turns telling Kenny the story, ending with Cartman slip-sliding all over the freezing sidewalk like a turtle on its back. Kenny tried hard to not laugh, and almost succeeded.

“Nrgh! We need to do that more often! We cleaned the stock out!” Tweek put in, “Mom and Dad were thrilled!”

“Burn down a shoppe?” Butters wondered.

“You'll have a lot more nights like that,” Kyle said, without thinking, “The sales, I mean! Not fires!”

“Here we go,” Craig sighed.

“You saw something?” Kenny asked pointedly, and Kyle told them about Teddy Hastings. “Karen knew him,” Kenny agreed, “He died.”

“I - saw - him,” Kyle repeated, “And I saw the whole shoppe change. I saw people pop in out of thin air. I saw us as teenagers. Then it all changed back. I even saw Clyde, and he said he was in remission.”

“Clyde's never relapsed,” Craig told them, “I know. We were on the phone with him for a while last night in the bath.”

“CRAIG!” Tweek squeaked in alarm, blushing.

“It was PC Principal's idea,” Craig shrugged, as stoic as usual, “Candles, music, then Clyde called.”

“CRAIG!” Tweek nearly screamed.

“Oh, well, uhm, that sounds nice?” Butters offered.

“Thanks for taking Karen in,” Kenny offered, changing the subject.

“It keeps Tricia out of our hair, mostly,” Craig shrugged again.

“Out of _your_ hair!” Tweek put in.

“So back to what Kyle saw?” Kenny asked, nodding knowingly to him.

“It was like on _**Star Trek: The Motion Picture**_ , when they hit that wormhole,” Kyle explained, “Voices were distorted, the lights left trails, and I when I touched Craig, my hand went right through him!”

Kenny just listened and nodded. “I don't know about this Teddy kid, but it sounds like something shifted.” He looked at Craig, and thought of the dream and Korx again. He was still perplexed as to how he'd dreamed up an interactive Craig, not to mention someone from a thousand years into the future. “Are any of you having crazy dreams?” Kenny then asked.

To all their surprise, Craig's face went bright red. He fumbled his controller, killing his game character.

“Not _those_ kind of dreams!” Kenny clarified, as Tweek looked to be ready to faint.

“No,” Stan answered quickly, and Kyle looked at him. “What? Dude, I hardly ever remember dreams. You know that.”

“It reminded me of that time I had that freaky trip, when we were running that Tooth Fairy racket?” Kyle reminded them.

 _When I got drowned in the Platte River,_ Kenny recalled.

“It sounds like you slipped into a parallel Timeline,” Craig offered, “But I'd have to ask Kevin.” They all just looked at him. “OK! So I'm a nerd! I admit it!”

“But why?” Kyle wondered, “I mean, we thought I was sick, but that wasn't it. You thought that Scott's cocoa mix made me hallucinate!”

“Dude, you were trippin' on Scott's cocoa?” Stan wondered.

“You questioned your existence, or reality on the whole again,” Kenny theorized, “I think you had something like what happened to you before.”

“But what about Teddy Hastings?” Tweek asked.

“Kyle must have spent some time in an alternate timeline,” Kenny explained, “And when he slipped back here, Teddy disappeared. He'd have to, as he's dead.”

 _You all wiped me out of Existence,_ Korx had said in the dream.

 _I was asleep, and dreaming about then,_ Kenny realized, _Dreaming about that color-storm wiping out the future again. That was just about when Kyle was at Tweek's. But what if they're_ not _dreams?_

 _It's not like we killed that kid,_ The Other told Kenny _, He was dead long before any of this started. We didn't make that old lady run him down!_

_But something that WE did brought him back, then killed him again!_

_You can't know that! Teddy was in the past._

_I think WE do know that, and the ripples spread in all directions,_ Kenny shivered at the thought of his actions having such far-reaching consequences. He thought about how a rock thrown into a pond sent ripples in all directions, in a circle, to lap up on every part of the shore. The closer, the bigger. The further, the smaller. Forward and backward in time.

“So don't do that again,” Craig told Kyle. “You're here. You exist. Stay like that.”

“No shit!” Tweek gasped, “You thought someone was gonna kill me! NRGH!”

“No one's going to kill you, Tweek,” Kenny lied smoothly. Craig looked sharply at him, and Kenny instantly knew that Craig knew that he was lying.

 _He needs Tweek more than Tweek needs him!_ The Other spoke up.

 _Good! Maybe we've scared some sense into him_! Kenny replied.

“Well, this is all beyond me!” Butters spoke up, taking his turn at the game.

“BOYS! Go wash up! Dinner's almost ready!” Sheila called. “I invited your mother, Kenny. She should have been here by now?”

“She was at our house, Ma'am,” Craig spoke up, “Mom was taking her down to City Wok to meet up with Kevin.”

At the mention of his older brother's name, Kenny remembered what he'd seen of how things in the future had changed, once his dad was out of the picture. He was confident that Kevin was coming home, and getting his act together. He hoped so. From what he remembered of a few of his trips over the next four years, Kevin ending up in prison was pretty much a constant.

“Maybe if the two of us stay on this, we can prevent it,” Kyle whispered to Kenny, as he wheeled him into the kitchen.

“So you believe me now?” Kenny whispered back.

“Dude, I went four years into our future,” Kyle replied, “You were there with Butters, and you-”

“We were a couple. I know. I've lived it already,” Kenny replied. “I remember you nearly falling off the bar stool, and Craig telling Tweek to cut off your espresso.”

“So this isn't just some random thing?” Kyle asked, breaking out in goosebumps.

“No, Kyle. I love him,” Kenny mumbled, hanging his head.

“What?” Kyle wondered, “Why that look?”

“Because I let it all happen again, just so I could be happy with Leo,” Kenny replied, “It was selfish, and it was _stupid_!”

“So how'd you get back, then?” Kyle asked.

“I don't know. Or rather, I don't remember,” Kenny admitted.

“BOYS!” Sheila called, as they all came to the table.

“This looks great!” Kenny observed.

“It really just beef, noodle casserole, and hash browns,” Kyle explained.

“I just wish Ike were here,” Sheila lamented, “I don't know what he sees in that friend of his.”

“Ike's the only thing keeping Georgie going,” Kenny commented, without thinking. He noticed the looks. “He's burnt out on the Goth thing, and he doesn't really have any other friends.”

Gerald and Sheila exchanged concerned looks, but said nothing.

After dinner was over, and the boys had cleaned up, Kyle introduced them to the game of dreidel.

“So there really is more to this thing than just spinning it around?” Stan wondered.

“The four symbols all mean something,” Kyle explained, “Nun, gimel, hey, and shin. Nothing, everything, half, or put in. You start with, say ten poker chips, or anything like pennies, whatever. Everybody puts one in the pot. You spin the dreidel, and if you get nun, you lose a turn. If you get gimel, you take the whole pot. Hey gets you half the pot. Shin means you put one chip in. When you're out of chips, you're out.”

“And this whole thing is like Christmas, only for eight nights?” Craig asked.

“Pretty much, but it's just one gift per night,” Kyle explained. “And it's not always something lame, like a new dreidel,” Kyle added, as they got the game started. They spun the dreidel to see who would go first, the aim being to land it on gimel. Tweek won the spin.

His first spin took the whole pot, and everyone had to put a chip in to reset it. Kyle spun a 'nun', as did Stan. Craig spun a shin. So did Kenny and Butters.

Tweek spun another gimel. On his next turn, he did the same thing.

“AIGH! I'm not cheating!” Tweek squeaked in alarm, as everyone looked at him. Over three spins, Tweek was far in the lead.

“Beginners luck,” Kyle assumed, but it only took a couple more rounds for Tweek to win.

“Remind me to never play poker with you!” Craig smiled.

“So, you do this for eight nights, with a meal like that, and then it's just games, ceremony, and presents?” Kenny asked.

“Yeah, it starts tomorrow night,” Kyle smiled.

“Oh,” Kenny mumbled, “I just never, I mean, we never did...if the heat's on at my house, maybe I should just go home, then?”

“You're in no shape!” Sheila told him, trotting out a Monopoly Jewish Edition game. “Now, if you want a game, _this_ is a game!”

“ _That McCormick boy, you know, the middle one? He's just as bad as his brother, and probably end up in the same bad way! Up the river. He drinks, he smokes, he steals, and I've heard he'll have sex with just about...”_ Kenny remembered, surprised at the turnabout. Then again, he'd gone back far enough, perhaps, to have changed all that. Or perhaps it was the fact that he'd almost been murdered. Still, he couldn't help but think, when he looked at Kyle's mom, that she hated him. He remembered how much it had hurt, when he'd been upstairs and she'd said, “No! I've put up with it for long enough, Kyle! I don't want that boy in this house anymore. He's a bad influence! And if he's that bad off, then Social Services should deal with him!”

Kenny remembered having just put his dirty clothes back on, and then having sneaked back out Kyle's bedroom window. “Thanks for the hot shower, anyway,” he'd said, when Kyle had come back upstairs. He remembered Kyle just standing there with a fresh pair of underpants and a ball of socks in his hands, clean trousers draped over his arm, as he'd dropped down the trellis and disappeared into the night.

He remembered that crushed looked on his friend's face.

“Maybe Tweek will get some more underpants!” Craig grinned.

“Nrgh! It's not funny! The Gnomes are real!” Tweek insisted, “They come in the night and steal your underpants!”

“So that's where they all go?” Sheila wondered, “ I thought it was the dryer eating them?”

For some reason, the boys all found this hilarious. Laughing still wasn't a good idea for Kenny, though. He excused himself to take a pain pill and get ready for bed. Butters went with him.

“I had a bath at the hospital,” Kenny explained, as Butters helped him into pajamas. “Where'd these come from? I usually sleep in my clothes.”

Butters blushed. “I brought 'em. I hope they fit.”

*

Later that night, long after the party had ended, a figure in teal and green and silver made his stealthy way, alone, over to #1020. He saw that the lights were on, and that a figure was moving inside. A new dark blue Impala SS was parked in the drive. Without a sound, he left a note on the door: LEAVE NOW OR PAY!

Other notes were left scattered about town, too.

*

In the guest room of the Broflovski home, Kenny slept and dreamed.

Once again, he was staring at that damnable marble statue of the weeping boy angel. To the left of it, instead of another statue of a standing boy, there stood a small gravestone with a carved stone lamb. On the berm of the stone, frozen in the ice, was a stuffed toy hamster. He stared at the two words: LEOPOLD STOTCH.

“So it's come to this, Old Lady?” Mysterion muttered, his voice guttural, as he turned to go. His deep purple cape billowed out behind him, and two steps later, he found himself walking along 285 again.

Alone.

And unknown to the dreaming Kenny, back in the cemetery, the statue of the standing marble boy who would comfort the angel appeared out of thin air.

*

When the boys arrived at Family Court that next morning, none of them were surprised to find Grandma Stotch playing the “sweet old lady” role. Kyle had gone along, just in case any testimony was needed about his family putting Butters up temporarily. Kenny went as well, seeing as how Butters had nearly been murdered, right along with him.

The proceedings, however, were short and to the point. The judge didn't seem interested in listening to Butters at all, or the other boys, and ruled in favor of his grandmother.

“There is simply no proof, other than the word of a boy who'd rather stay with his friends, that any abuse has taken place. She is the boy's legal guardian in this case,” the judge determined, despite Gerald's best efforts. “As for the McCormick boy,” he examined his papers, “It seems that his mother has given consent for him to stay with you, Counselor?”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“Pending house renovation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good!” The judge then dismissed them.

“Let's go home, Butters,” Grandma Stotch insisted, “Before that little heathen tries to get you killed again!” She glared at Kenny.

“Oh, it's just getting _started_ , Lady!” Kenny whispered to Kyle.

“And you can keep those rats!” The old lady snapped at Kyle, “I don't want them in my house!”

“My _hamsters_?!” Butters gasped. “And it's not YOUR house!”

“ _We'll_ see!” Grandma smiled.

“Don't worry, we got this, Butters,” Kyle assured him, as Butters was taken away.

“Oh, we _got_ it, alright,” Kenny sneered.

“Did you get a note, too?” Kyle asked.

Kenny nodded. “So did a lot of other kids!”

“And we're really gonna do this?” Kyle wondered.

“She has to go, Kyle,” Kenny nodded, “It's her, or Leo.”

*

The rest of the day was uneventful. School was out for holiday break. The snow had piled up, and it was cold. All across South Park, however, boys were out and moving. It might have been broad daylight, but then again, hardly anyone ever looked up.

For the Human Kite, keeping the sun behind him was quite the advantage as he went from rooftop to rooftop, only startling a few people as they peered out to have snow fall on their heads. It had been a while since the costume had been worn, and he'd had to modify it a bit. A white cowl now covered the upper half of his face, as well as his red hair. As he sat on the roof of #1019, cuddling the warm chimney, he fired one of his modified laser pointers at the house across the way. The blond boy in the upstairs bedroom flinched as the dot of red light crossed his chest.

But he knew.

Smiling, he lay back down on his bed and waited. He was very good at waiting quietly.

“Hawkman to Batman, all's quiet here,” he whispered, just in case his phone was monitored, “Isn't it about Superman's turn? I thought this was a League thing?”

“Superman is up to his ears in rear axle grease,” a gruff voice replied, “We'll be sending Wonder Woman in shortly.”

The Human Kite waited. After all, it wouldn't do to say “Super Craig” or “Wonder Tweek” aloud. Someone might hear.

“Copy that, position is warm, subject is normal,” The Human Kite replied.

And so he waited. When he saw their target move, he'd fire a laser at him. He knew that his relief was on the way when he heard a few grunts.

“I can't believe this old house has metal rungs on the chimney!” Wonder Tweek exclaimed, as he came up from behind.

“It's warm, that's why we chose it.”

“You think these new weapons that Mysterion designed will work?” Wonder Tweek asked.

“Just be damn careful, they're dangerous,” The Human Kite advised, “That sprayer on your wrist is full liquid nitrogen, and I don't even _wanna_ know where he got that!”

“ARGH!” Wonder Tweek squeaked in alarm, as The Human Kite unfurled his 'squirrel suit', as he called it, and jumped off the back of the roof.

“Have fun!” He called back, gliding gracefully down in a slight arc to land softly in the fenced yard next door where no one was home. Moments later, and Kyle Broflovski walked out the side gate in an orange coat and green hat.

“Show off,” Wonder Tweek groused, adjusting his blue half-mask, as he sat in for his shift. Some hours later, as the target seemed to be napping, he was relieved by a masked boy with red football pads and a red half-mask.

By then, their target was up and moving again. Butters Stotch came to his window, opened it, and looked around.

“Watch this!” Captain Diabetes grinned, pulling what looked like a gun from his waist. He aimed at the open window and pulled the trigger. A tan ball launched across the way to hit Butters in the forehead.

“Oh, what's...ewww! It's all... _sticky_!” Butters observed, as he realized what it was, and ate it!

“Donut hole launcher!” Scott smiled, patting his other gun, “And an insulin bolus shooter. There's enough insulin here to make a moose pass out!”

“Super Craig should be here around dark,” Wonder Tweek told him, “Thanks!” He then jumped off the back of the roof, disappearing into a high drift. Moments later, and a boy dressed in blue with a blue chullo hat hiding his hair simply walked out of the yard. He flipped off a passerby.

“Genius disguise!” Captain Diabetes grinned, as he sat in to watch. Dinnertime came and went. Butters didn't move. He opened the window again, and Scott Malkinson fired a few more donut holes to him. He pulled a stick of jerky from his pack and ate it, along with a donut hole. The cold was, after all, causing his metabolism to rise and his blood sugar to drop.

As the light began to fade some time later, a boy in blue with a red S on his chest came scrambling up the chimney. The upper half of his face was covered by a red half-mask, but his costume was otherwise just normal clothing.

“Subject is normal,” Captain Diabetes reported, as he took his leave. He climbed down and simply pulled his pads and mask off as he went. By the time that Super Craig was seated and watching, Scott Malkinson was walking up the street in his brown coat, whistling innocently.

“We wait until bedtime,” Mysterion's gruff voice said over the conference call, “That should be about nine for Queen Torpedo Tits. If all goes according to plan, Professor Chaos should emerge from his room at nine-ten. We'll give her ten more minutes to get comfortable with the TV, then we'll move into positions. Copy!”

Everyone agreed.

After a few hours, Super Craig was relieved by the Mosquito.

“Why do I get the really late shift?” Mosquito asked.

“Because you shot the highest number rolling dice,” Super Craig told him, “Now take over! I can't even feel my ass, it's so cold!”

By nine, it was clear that Butters wasn't getting dinner. He hadn't left his room all day, either. Then again, his grandma hadn't done much. She'd just sat in front of the TV all day, eating bonbons. She hadn't noticed the figure dressed all in black that had lowered himself from Butters' roof to bring him a carry-out Mexican food order, and a backpack.

“The hammer has fallen,” The Black Knight reported.

“The Black Knight has made the drop,” Mosquito reported, “Let's give him time to eat.”

“All units converge,” Mosquito later got the call, diving off the roof into the same snowdrift that Wonder Tweek had used. Moments later, and the Superheroes had assembled on Butters' roof. They could hear the old lady shouting at Butters to get his bath and “Get your worthless ass to bed, you little pussy!”

“This bitch is _so_ mine!” Mysterion breathed anxiously.

“How's the leg?” Toolshed asked him, having been with him all day, working on more marvelous toys.

“Fine, so long as I keep pressure off it,” Mysterion replied, “It's the rib I gotta watch.”

“Does it hurt?” Captain Diabetes asked.

“Of _course_ it fucking hurts!” Mysterion snarled, as the all listened at the transom window that led into Butters' attic. “Thank you, Cartman, you otherwise useless fat fuck!”

“Wish I'd had some Mexican food,” Mosquito sighed.

“Be quiet!”

They slipped in, and down the attic stairs to hide wherever they could. Toolshed touched the earbud that he wore. “Professor?” He whispered.

“Timmy!” Came the whispered reply from the motorized wheelchair with a snowblade on the front of it that was going up and down the street, not only keeping watch, but making money!

“Wish we all had these!” The Human Kite said.

“Call Girl only had time to make one set,” Toolshed replied, “Everyone remember the plan?”

“Yes!”

The boys then began moving stealthily through the house. As he made his way to the lower floor, listening to the sounds of the shower running, Super Craig checked his weapon. He hoped it would work, but then again, he had no qualms about beating up this particular old lady, if it came down to that. He was, after all, a Brutalist.

“Hurry up in that shower!” Grandma Stotch shouted, as Super Craig ducked behind a large potted plant, “And you better not being playing with yourself, either, you little pervert!”

“Oh, like _that_ , are we?” Super Craig grinned, noticing a flash of red at the back door.

Grandma Stotch looked up. From his position behind a china cabinet, Mosquito crinkled a sheet of forgotten foil wrapping paper, stifling a gasp.

“That little son of a whore!” Grandma snapped, as she went for the stairs and into the guest room.

“That's got it!” Toolshed whispered, touching his ear, “Get the cops!”

“TIMMY!” Came the reply, as the wheelchair sped off.

A few minutes passed. Things hadn't gone according to plan, but it was close enough. They were all inside, and they were armed. The bathroom door opened at the same time as the guest room door, and Professor Chaos and Queen Torpedo Tits confronted one another.

“So here we go again! Captain Pussy ready to have his ass kicked again?” She asked, her voice condescending.

“Not quite!” Professor Chaos laughed, and the sound of that laugh was enough to make Mysterion's blood run cold. There was a manic glint in Chaos's eyes, and he held what looked to be an eight pound sledgehammer in one hand. “You see, Queenie, this time, I'm not alone!”

“Well if you think that Captain Underpants is getting in here to help you, you're more stupid than I thought!” She laughed, “The doors and windows are all locked!”

“We'll see!” Chaos laughed, as he bolted the other way and headed for the stairs, limping on his bad ankle. He jumped the banister and slid, flying off the end to land on the couch. The Queen pursued him, and they faced off around the couch.

“NOW!” Mysterion shouted, as from behind furniture and out of closets, the heroes emerged. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the fun way!” Mysterion warned the surrounded Queen.

“Who the hell are all of you?” She asked.

“Toolshed!”  
“Super Craig!”  
“Wonder Tweek!”  
“Human Kite!”  
“Captain Diabetes!”  
“Mosquito!”  
“Zorro!”

“Boys, why don't you all just go home, before you get hurt? You can come over and play with Butters tomorrow. How's that for a deal?” She offered. “ _Zorro_? Really?”

“While you consult with Hoffman and Turk, Attorneys at Law, about having Mrs Stotch declared insane, and locked up for good, so you can take over here?” The Human Kite demanded.

“How did you know about that?” The Queen asked, looking distraught.

“I travel in legal circles!” The Human Kite replied, smirking, “And you just told me!”

“So you're all here to attack an old lady?” She asked.

“No one's falling for that one, Granny. You see, they all know. And I left the attic transom open!” Professor Chaos told her. He then slammed his face into the coffee table. Blood ran from his busted lip. “You see, when the police arrive, they'll find that _you_ beat me up! Charges will be filed, and you'll be up the river, too!”

“Holy shit, Dude!” Toolshed gasped, his voice breaking, “I can't believe he just did that!”

Professor Chaos then punched himself in the face, hard, on the left side.

“You sick little bastard!” The Queen snapped, as she lunged at him. Chaos swung his hammer, hitting her square in the chest, **CLANG**!, tearing off one of her conical, metallic tits. It threw her off balance, and into the sofa.

“Wait for it!” Mysterion ordered, “Let her get good and mad!”

The Queen then righted herself, lunged at Chaos again, but slipped in a puddle of ketchup at her feet. She did a wild dance, trying to keep her balance, but spotted Mosquito on her way down. She shifted her weight, falling on the coffee table and squashing him beneath. Mosquito screamed.

“Dude!” Super Craig exclaimed, as the old lady rolled, dodging his punch. She righted herself, Super Craig flipped her off, pulled Mosquito up, and then with a loud **POP**!, his hand flew out to punch her in the face. It was a hard plastic hand, mounted on a spring-loaded, scissor-like arm hidden up his sleeve.

“Awesome!” Toolshed declared, as he and Wonder Tweek moved in.

“That all you got?” The Queen asked, slapping Chaos out of the way, the weight of his hammer pulling him off balance. She then grabbed one of her horns from off her crown, and threw it. Toolshed ducked, and the horn struck Captain Diabetes in the forehead, knocking him over. He groaned and went down hard.

“Jesus Christ!” The Human Kite exclaimed, as three industrial laser lights lit up from the corners of his kite backing. They struck her in the face, blinding her, as a jet of liquid shot from Wonder Tweek's wrist. There was a crackling noise, and the front of her armor froze over. She shouted in alarm, as her other conical tit shattered and fell off.

Mosquito, while crying, was mad as hell. He smacked her over the helmet with a table leg, **BONG**!, then dived to bite her ankle. Zorro then pulled two large water pistols, and soaked her exposed front in habanero juice. The Queen screamed, moving back.

“Get her to the wall!” Toolshed shouted, as two Mysterangs shot out from Mysterion's hands, where he was perched like a bird on the stair post. One of them sliced off her other horn, and the other bounced off her armored forearm. Two of the spikes on her gauntlet then launched out, stabbing Toolshed in the chest, and The Human Kite in the forearm. “OWWW! Fine! Fuck it!” Toolshed decided, as he raised his arm.

On his right wrist was what looked like the business end of a pneumatic nail gun.

“HOLY FUCK!” Wonder Tweek yelled, diving out of the line of fire to land beside Super Craig.

The Human Kite's lasers blinded her again, Clyde grabbed her ankle, and Chaos came up swinging his hammer. He hit her hard in the tits, knocking the wind out of her, as she reached out to strangle him.

“PERFECT!” Mysterion yelled, waiting.

Chaos was choking. Mysterion was waiting.

“NOW!”

Toolshed fired.

The first nail bounced off a section of her undamaged armor, but Mosquito was on her back as she let go of Chaos. Mosquito bit her neck, and grabbed at the strap that held the armor. The Queen didn't even look. She simply back-punched over her shoulder, breaking Mosquito's nose. Blood flew as he went to the floor again, but he did take a chunk of her flesh with him! Zorro shot her in the face with juice again, causing her to choke and sneeze, but missing her eyes.

“Dammit!” He dived to the side to join Mosquito.

“Get clear!” Toolshed yelled, as The Human Kite fired again. The boys pulled her off balance again. One of the nails went through her cape, but she was still in the middle of the room. Toolshed fired again, as Mysterion threw another Mysterang as Kite blinded her again.

The nail caught her in the hand, and the Mysterang cut her cheek as it passed. She fell backwards over Zorro and Mosquito kneeling behind her.

“You could've killed me, you sick bastards!” She screamed, getting back up. Slower this time.

“That's the general idea, Bitch!” Mysterion told her. Kenny McCormick didn't object to the idea, either. He simply let The Other have the day. After all, this woman was out to hurt Leo.

To kill Leo.

And Kenny knew the future.

He'd seen the gravestone.

“OK, you wanna play hardball?” The Queen hissed, as she drew a can of mace.

Mysterion threw another Mysterang volley.

Three blades emerged as the boy in purple and black froze on his perch to watch. One stuck in her exposed shoulder, one nearly took her ear off, and the other lodged square in her left eye.

“AIGH!” Chaos screamed, but it sounded a lot like Butters.

“Have you _lost_ your minds? What is _wrong_ with you?” The Queen screamed, dropping the mace. Wonder Tweek darted in and grabbed it.

“What's _wrong_ with YOU?” Mysterion replied, not moving from his perch, “Getting rid of his mother wasn't enough? You had to have a plan to murder the boy, too?”

“What are you talking about?” She demanded, as the boys, sans Captain Diabetes, began circling her.

“About a year from now, Butters will be beaten to death in his sleep,” Mysterion explained, “It'll be found that he was drugged. You see, I know about his life insurance, Bitch! We talked about stuff like that in the hospital. Dad's as good as dead in prison, and Mom's committed? You're here to cash in, then cash out! The only thing I don't know is, who did you pay off to kill him?”

“This is some pretty fucked up shit, right here!” Toolshed gasped.

“I don't know what you're talking about! Get out of here! I'm calling the police!” The Queen ordered them.

“Too...too l-late! TIMMY!” Timmy shouted, as the front door burst open and Timmy shot across the room, full speed, to scoop her right into the wall.

Toolshed fired again, eight nails securing her cape to the wall.

Mysterion jumped from his perch, landing on his right leg, and gracefully rolling over a pile of spilled cushions.

The boys confronted her again.

“TALK!” Mysterion shouted in her face, “WHO WAS IT?”

“Go to hell!” The Queen replied, “You'll all be in Juvenile Hall until you're all twenty-one, by the time I'm done with you!”

Mysterion gasped.

 **Juvenile Hall**.

He seemed to be the only one to make the connection.

Then Toolshed's eyes went wide behind his yellow safety glasses.

“Trent _Boy_ ette!” The Human Kite gasped.

Queen Torpedo Tits, or what was left of her, smiled at him. It was like looking at something straight out of a horror film.

“He gets paroled next year, early, and he's coming for you!” The Queen smiled. “He's coming for you ALL!” She laughed wickedly.

“Holy fuckin' hamburgers!” Chaos exclaimed, as The Queen ripped her cape and freed herself. She pointed at Chaos, advancing on him, then she stiffened.

“Drop a bolus, Bitch!” Captain Diabetes said, as they all looked to see an oversize syringe sticking out of The Queen's exposed belly. Her eyes went wide, then her head lolled.

They could hear sirens in the distance through the open door.

“Butters, get naked!” Kenny ordered him.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Craig gasped.

“The police can't know that _he's_ Chaos!” Kenny explained, holding his side and balancing on one leg. “The rest of you, BAIL! Timmy, can you make it home?”

“TIMMY!” Timmy nodded, taking off out the back door.

Butters was stripping off his costume and handing it to Tweek.

“AIGH! What'll I do with it?”

“Hide it at your house, Babe,” Craig shrugged, as is nothing at all were wrong.

“Is she gonna die?” Butters gasped, looking at his unconscious grandmother.

“Probably,” Scott shrugged.

The boys all paused to stare at him.

“Seriously, Dude? The _HELL_?!” Kyle gasped.

“And I thought shit was hardcore back in Boise!” David exclaimed.

Kenny then grabbed Butters' hammer. “I said bail,” he repeated.

“Ken, wh-what'r you gonna do?” Butters gasped.

“Leo, I'm really, really sorry about this. But it's got to look like you protected yourself. You've got all the marks, or you will have shortly.” Kenny then pressed the sides of Butters' neck. “Just breathe. You're going to pass out. Remember, she attacked you. Then Mysterion showed up, OK?”

“Y-yeah,” Butters managed, as he fainted.

“God dammit, RUN!” Kenny told the rest of them, standing there in his costume, holding that hammer, and looking like The Reaper himself.

He watched the others go as red and blue lights flashed outside. He could see the bruises on Butters' neck, knowing they matched his grandma's hands. The boy was badly beaten, and Kenny bit back tears. He then turned, raised the hammer, and brought it down on Grandma Stotch's skull.

Just so.

And not too hard.

Maybe just a small skull fracture, and some brain damage. Maybe a stroke, too.

“MYSTERION!” Detective Yates shouted, as the cops came bursting in the door.

Biting back the pain, Mysterion faced them as guns were lowered. “This woman attacked Butters,” he stated plainly, “I heard him screaming, and had Timmy Burch call you. He was wheelchair-bulldozing snow, you see. I fought her off. I think the boy will be OK, but you'd better call an ambulance!”

“Why would she do that?” Yates wondered.

“I believe it had something to do with Hoffman and Turk, and the boy's life insurance,” Mysterion replied.

“I _hate_ those guys!” Yates nodded, as an officer examined Butters, then covered him up with a blanket.

“Sir, this boy's been sodomized!” The officer reported.

“WHAT?!” They all gasped, Mysterion included.

“Oh my gosh!” Another officer gasped, turning to vomit, but pointing at Grandma Stotch's still form.

“She alive?” Yates asked.

“Yes! BLURRRRRGH!” The officer vomited some more.

Mysterion and Yates both looked to see the dildo sticking out of The Queen's armored panties. It wasn't large, but it was large enough. Behind his mask, Mysterion's eyes went very wide.

 _That sneaky, pervy, little bastard!_ Kenny thought, as instinct and The Other took over, and he dashed out the back door to disappear into the bushes.

“Get him!” Yates ordered, but it didn't sound sincere as something exploded in the next yard over and fire shot up through the bushes.

“He's gone, sir,” Another officer reported, “But there's some kid out there in a wheelchair headed east?”

Yates ran out the front door. “YOU THERE!” He called, “FREEZE!”

“TIMMY!” The boy in the wheelchair called back, waving his arms about and wobbling his head in the lee of the streetlight post.

“Well, hell, that's just Timmy, he 'dozed my walk today!” Yates sighed, as the ambulance arrived. “Poor little cripple! Gotta admire his spunk, though!”

“Sir?” The officer who'd just finished vomiting shouted to him, as a crowd began to gather on the sidewalks, “The woman's dead!”

Outside, Kenny rolled on in Timmy's spare chair. As he turned the corner, a boy in an orange coat jumped out of the bushes and began pushing him at a run.

“You OK?” Kyle asked.

“Fuck no, I'm not OK!” Kenny cried, letting out a string of expletives, “I need the ER! I think my leg's _really_ broke now!”

“Mom's gonna murder us!” Kyle fretted.

“So is Trent Boyette, next year!” Kenny groaned.

“And you didn't know that, ALREADY?” Kyle snapped.

“This _wasn't_ how it went down last time!” Kenny explained.

“You know that Grandma Stotch just _died_?” Kyle panted.

“Yeah, well, it was either her or Leo,” Kenny replied coldly, which made Kyle's blood run even colder.

“I'm through being Mister Nice-Guy with these jackasses!” The voice of Mysterion added.

 


	15. Kyle Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being treated for injuries sustained in the fight with Grandma Stotch, Kyle realizes that he has two new roles to fill. Only one of them is temporary, though. Some first night of Hanukkah, huh?  
> Warnings: Nudity mentioned, no sex. Medical threats and the like.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 15**

**Kyle Again**

*

The emergency room at Hell's Pass Hospital was busy. While the trauma teams were working on Kenny McCormick and Butters Stotch, a few more children were waiting to be seen. Stan Marsh, Craig Tucker, Tweek Tweak, Kyle Broflovski, Scott Malkinson, Clyde Donovan, and David Rodriguez were all nursing minor injuries.

“DO you know what _this_ is, Kenny?” Nurse Christina asked, holding up a tray full of medical horrors for the boys to see. Kenny and Butters didn't know. “This is a Foley catheter. Let me explain what it does!” And she did that.

“Oh, hamburgers! It goes up inside your WIENER?!” Butters gasped, groaning.

“And I'm going to install them, if you two don't stay OUT of here!” She warned them, shaking her head. “I can't believe your own grandma attacked you!”

“Believe it,” Kenny moaned, as his ribs were wrapped again, and a real cast put on his leg from foot to mid-thigh. He'd worried that his dramatic exit from Butters' house would break his already-damaged leg the rest of the way, and sure enough, it had.

While Kenny was being tended to, another doctor was examining Butters. “YOUCH!” Butters yelped, as he was put in a very undignified position to have his rectum examined.

“So, no head wound, you just fell over from exhaustion, and something of a beating?” The doctor asked.

“Uhm, well, yes, sir, it was a pretty bad fight,” Butters explained, “But then Mysterion showed up!”

“I've heard of him,” Nurse Christina agreed, “I hope he's OK.”

“Me too,” Kenny groaned, realizing that it was going to look odd if he and Mysterion were both out of commission for about six weeks.

“Well, Butters, it seems that your rectum is just fine,” the doctor declared, which brought some snickering from the waiting crowd. “Oh, I should have closed the window blinds?”

“WHAT?!” Butters squeaked in alarm, as his backside was currently on display for all to see.

“Now, Kenny, what would you say, if you wanted to take a gander at Butters' asshole?” Craig deadpan repeated PC Principal's informed consent tip. “Oh, I guess we all got one, whether we wanted it or not?”

“Did you just make a joke?” Stan wondered.

“I think I did,” Craig nodded.

“Can I get down now?” Butters asked, as the doctor prepared a different type of boot cast for his lower leg, complete with a self-contained chilling pack for his ankle.

“I want to keep these two overnight for observation,” the doctor decided, as he brought in Scott Malkinson and Clyde Donovan. “You were shoveling snow, and you fell on top of him?”

“Yes, sir,” Scott agreed, “Then I hit my head on the sidewalk.”

“OK, let's scan Scott's head, and keep him, too. I suspect a slight concussion. I want some x-rays of Clyde here, to check for busted ribs, so I guess we'll keep him, too.” He checked Clyde's file. “It's not time for your usual tests, so you're lucky there. No colonoscopy for you!”

“Thank God,” Clyde sighed.

Tweek and Craig were up next, mainly for bumps and bruises, and a slight bit of frostbite on Tweek's wrist. Craig needed two stitches where Stan's extending punch arm had cut him. “Thanks a lot, Buttpipe!” Craig told him on the way out, “We're going home. We've had enough excitement for the season.”

“Any time, Cupcake,” Stan smirked.

“HEY!” Tweek exclaimed, keeping his wrapped hand to his chest. Tweek's mom arrived, and took a picture of the identically dressed boys for Facebook. The boys sighed.

“Stan Marsh and Kyle Bruffeloffski?” The doctor called. Kyle corrected him. “What happened here?”

“Cooking accident,” Stan lied, as both boys got five stitches each.

“So we're keeping four of them?” Nurse Christina asked, “I'll prep three beds in Peeds.”

“Pediatrics,” The doctor clarified, “And why three?”

“Boyfriends,” the nurse told him discretely, nodding at Kenny and Butters.

“What's the Latino kid need?”

“He's just here for moral support,” Nurse Christina explained, “And to deliver some late takeout.”

“Those chips smell good?” The doctor observed.

“Three-fifty,” David replied, grinning.

Once the boys were all settled in, it was quite late. The rest had gone home, but Gerald, Randy, and Roger had remained to sign some papers.

“I'm fine, Dad!” Clyde kept assuring his dad, who was visibly upset. “We just fell!” Which wasn't exactly a lie; they had fallen down. After being hit over the head, and then squished by furniture.

“What is it, with people trying to murder you two?” Gerald asked Butters and Kenny, as he was currently responsible for the both of them. “I would never have dreamed that your grandma would try and kill you, Butters!”

“Well, does everyone believe me _now_?” Butters snapped, lying there next to Kenny, and the both of them having a leg elevated.

“The judge is in a great deal of trouble for not having listened, and not having investigated,” Gerald assured him. “And of course, Detective Yates will be here tomorrow to see you both.”

“Naturally,” Kenny sighed, as Stan and Kyle peeked in the door.

“And you two!” Randy spoke up, having brought Stan in, “I cook, you know! And that's not a paring knife wound. Spill it!”

The six boys all groaned.

“We went over with Butters and Kenny to meet his grandma, see if Butters could come out, and she went nuts and attacked us all,” Stan explained.

“We tried to tell you she was nuts,” Kyle added, “But you didn't seem to believe us.”

“I'll sue her estate!” Gerald swore.

“You'll only hurt Butters, if you do, Dad,” Kyle reminded him.

“You can all tell the police that tomorrow,” Randy nodded. “Let's go, Stanley.” He paused, looking back. “Oh, and Kenny? You are going to love your house! It's all open concept now!” He thougth for a moment. “Shit! I need to make it handicap accessible, don't I?”

“We'll be back tomorrow,” Gerald told the boys, as he left, dragging Randy out with him.

“You're gonna love the show!” Randy called back to Kenny.

Kyle turned to look back once, and Kenny made the Vulcan hand salute at him, upside down.

Kyle nodded. He knew what that meant.

After Roger Donovan had finally left, Nurse Christina came in to get the boys settled for the night. David came with her, with a cart. Despite having been beaten up, the boys had missed dinner and were hungry.

“That was wicked!” David breathed, once the nurse had left. “Anyway, it's late. I have to get home.”

“Wicked?! _Wicked_?” Clyde gasped, “Holy shit, dudes! We _killed_ her!”

“She was old,” Kenny clarified, “She should have known better than to take all of us on.”

“And this doesn't bother you?” Scott asked.

“Not really,” Kenny admitted, “She had it coming.”

“Hang on, _you_ were the one who shot her full of insulin?” Clyde remembered.

“Oh, yeah, I did!” Scott grinned. “Hit _me_ over the head, Bitch!” He smirked.

Butters looked at him, hard. “You kept my hammer, Ken.”

“I know, Leo,” Kenny agreed, “It's safe with Kyle.” He took another bite. “So, what was with the dildo?”

“What?!” Clyde and Scott both gasped.

Butters blushed. “I thought, uhm, if, well, it'd make it look like _she_ did that to me. You know? Like, she abused me with it, and then, uhm, well, she'd _really_ get some jail time!”

Kenny nodded. “So, it was your mom's?”

Butters blushed even deeper.

“Oh!” Kenny grinned.

“It doesn't...doesn't hurt, once y-you get, I mean, it's like,” Butters paused, as the three of them waited. Butters' face became very red. “I _like_ it, OK?!” He exclaimed. “It feels good!”

“ _Do_ tell?” Kenny leered at him.

“Oh,” Scott shivered.

“Dude, I get a camera up the butt twice a year, and I _don't_ like it!” Clyde put in, “And I didn't like it when those girls raped me in the closet at that Stupid Spoiled Whore party!”

“So you did a little playing in the shower, then framed Grandma for it?” Kenny theorized, “Genius! One of the cops puked, you know!”

They all had a laugh at that. By the time they'd eaten, they were nodding.

“We did it,” Kenny assured Butters, softly kissing his ear.

“Yeah,” Butters yawned, “Now if Mom just gets better.”

“She will, now,” Kenny assured him.

*

Five years into the future, a storm of color swept over the cemetery just outside of South Park. The gravestone for Butters Stotch didn't disappear, but the name and dates changed: TRENT BOYETTE, 2000-2013.

Once again, the statue of the standing boy who comforted the weeping angel vanished. That plot remained empty, but next to it, a new temporary metal marker appeared: ERIC CARTMAN.

*

More than a thousand years into the future, Korx checked his computer and sighed. “I've got to have a serious talk with Kenny about this 'bull in the china shoppe' thing!” he complained, checking his temporal discriminator. In his framed seventh grade class picture, two of his friends vanished. “Then again, no one's going to miss Cartman. Then again, he already sabotaged his own Timeline. Good thing he didn't wipe out the whole company!” Korx smiled at the wristwatch-type device he wore. “Then again, we've already got the discriminators, so who cares?”

Korx then began rechecking his projections. Across a dozen large panoramic monitors, he watched as several projections of algebraic curves shifted and changed colors. He dialed his projections back a bit. “Doesn't matter, he's still the meanest kid there,” Korx muttered, “Something to calm him down, maybe? A head wound? Bit of damage to his frontal lobes? Make him a bit more likable? What do you think, Ziggy?”

“I think you ripped off my name from a 1990's TV show,” the computer replied, “And that you cannot directly intervene. Your contact with The Kenny in the Trans-Time Dimension is dangerous enough.”

*

Later that night, Mysterion sneaked out of Kyle's window and went downtown. It was not the first time that Kyle had filled in for the role, and it probably wouldn't be the last, either. As he went from roof to roof, his mind raced. Grandma Stotch was dead. The police were probably wanting to talk to Mysterion, and Kyle knew that he'd have to be careful. The South Park vigilantes had taken a couple of years off after their Civil War, but it was public knowledge that Mysterion was back. The next six weeks, or more, Kyle fretted, could be rough.

Mysterion had to be seen until Kenny could resume his duties.

Kyle wasn't sure about Professor Chaos, though. Dougie has since given up his role as General Disarray, citing that he wanted nothing more to do with them all. He wondered who he could get to fill the role, should it become necessary?

On his way, Kyle noticed a car driving erratically on a side road. From his perch atop a two story house, he saw the car circle the block once. He watched as it parked and shut off the lights. No one got out. Kyle watched, questioning his actions, himself, and everything in general. He thought about his recent experience of seeing the future at Tweek's. He recalled his metaphysical adventure again.

The vision hit him hard and fast, and he grabbed a TV antenna pole for support.

“This place was about a waste,” he was muttering, only Kyle wasn't himself. He was sneaking around in the dark, in someone's house. A number came to mind, and the vision passed. Kyle hopped a few more roofs, landing on the one that felt right. That car was parked out front.

He waited.

_Damn! Did I just phase out again? Did I just merge with someone else? Crap, I don't wanna do that again! Shit, what if I don't make it back, if I do that again? Then again, if I'm sure that I exist, then I do, and I'd be me again._

_-Would someone please take those books away from him?-_

After a few minutes, a figure in black emerged from a window with a large backpack.

Kyle checked Kenny's spare utility belt to see what to use. He decided on the paintball gun, and a Mysterang.

“Not much in this one,” a teenager's voice mumbled, and Kyle knew that voice. It was Davey, one of the eighth graders.

Kyle wrinkled his nose, took aim, and hit both car and boy with several paint balls.

“What the HELL?!” Davey gasped, as the paintballs hit him. Then a searing pain shot through his leg.

“I wouldn't pull that blade out, if I were you,” Kyle shouted from the roof, his voice low and rough, just as he'd practiced. The modified voice-changer box from an old toy helped, too. “It could well be lodged in an artery. I'd suggest you go the hospital!” He then jumped down into a high drift, and emerged with a billy club in hand. He smashed a window on the house, and an alarm began to blare.

The car started and sped off, leaving Davey behind.

“Or, just call the cops and give up,” Mysterion shrugged.

“YOU!” Davey gasped. He then turned and limped away, dropping the heavy pack.

“Oh, what's this? A small bolo?” Mysterion wondered, as he gave it a throw, taking Davey down as the bolo tangled his legs. Mysterion jumped him, kicked him in the head once, and then found Davey's phone. “I think I liked that!” He snorted, remembering all the times when Davey had been a notorious sixth grader who'd tormented them. He dialed 911 and explained the situation.

Moments later, and Detective Yates arrived with backup.

“ _Mysterion_?” Yates gasped.

“You seem surprised to see me, sir?” The counterfeit Mysterion asked.

“I...I thought that you were – I mean, I'd heard that you were injured?” Yates explained, looking shocked.

“Safe to assume I'm not Butters or Kenny,” Mysterion replied, as Davey was apprehended.

“Word on the street is, that the old lady Stotch attacked Kenny McCormick, too?” Yates nodded, “But we didn't find him there.”

“Kenny has a broken leg,” Mysterion replied, “Why he said he got it at Butters' house, I don't know. I clearly don't, though!” He lifted his leg.

“Apparently,” Yates agreed, “You probably saved Butters' life tonight.”

Mysterion shrugged. “Glad to help.”

“I'd imagine,” Yates smiled. “I'll be questioning the boys tomorrow. Shame that the old lady died. Looked like head trauma?” He wheedled.

“She started it, _I_ finished it, but I doubt I whacked her hard enough to kill her,” Mysterion shrugged, “She would have killed Butters, you know, so I had to knock her out. You also might want to look into Juvenile Hall, and a boy named Trent Boyette. Word on _my_ street is, that she hired him to kill Butters next year. The kid is worth a lot, dead, and with Linda in the nut house, she'd have been the beneficiary. I'd imagine you'll find records of her visiting him, or at least calling. It should all be logged. I'm sure if you'd cut Trent a deal, that he'd talk.”

“Oh?” Yates sounded interested. “And why would I wanna let that little psycho out early?”

“Trent Boyette is innocent,” Mysterion sighed.

“WHAT?!” Yates gasped.

“It was all a terrible accident,” Mysterion explained, “Yes, he had a lighter, but he never planned for Miss Claridge to get hurt. And when he got out, he didn't come back to finish her off. That was all a terrible accident, too, when Cartman's taser overloaded the battery on her wheelchair.”

“And how do you know?” Yates persisted.

“I was there,” Mysterion inclined his head, “Both times.”

“And will I find anyone else willing to testify?” Yates wondered.

“Butters will confirm it, and so can Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, and Cartman, if you can get him to talk,” Mysterion admitted, “Now, if you'll excuse me?”

“Certainly,” Yates turned his back to get into his car, as the other officers left with Davey. He looked back once, but Mysterion was gone without so much as a footprint in the snow.

“So, this Cartman kid framed Trent Boyette, then intimidated his friends into going along with it?” Yates smiled, going back to his car and calling up the case on the laptop.

“Trent Boyette is a liar, sir,” Eric Cartman's statements showed.

“Eric Cartman,” Yates wondered, as he began calling up more files.

In the back yard of the burglarized house, Kyle lay in the snow, flat on his back. He hadn't expected the force of the grappler gun he'd fired, and it had pulled him violently upward, over the roof, and right off the other side. He was very grateful for the deep snow to land in.

“Holy shit!” He gasped, after his lungs refilled and he'd retrieved the grappler. “He could have warned me!” He got up, aching. “Fuck this, I'm going to bed!”

And Kyle did just that when he got home. Sleep didn't come quickly, though, and while he waited, he turned the events over and over in his mind.

Kenny knew things, and might well be a time traveler.  
He himself had now had three of those strange, out-of-body experiences.  
He'd seen the future.  
Kenny had been deadly correct about Grandma Stotch.

And the old lady was dead.

Kyle wondered if Kenny had actually killed her.

“No more Mister Nice-Guy,” Kyle mumbled, remembering Kenny's words, yet hardly able to believe that his lifelong friend might be capable of murder. “If he's telling the truth, if he's already lived this, he might be capable of anything!” Kyle realized.

Then he remembered Trent Boyette, and what he'd just told Yates.

“This could be a new problem,” Kyle sighed.

Kyle shivered and snuggled down in his blankets, mindful of his aching back and his stitches. He was cold. He got up and got another blanket, putting on a pair of woolly socks, too. On impulse, he grabbed his green ushanka hat and put that on, too.

“No one wears hats anymore,” Kyle thought, as he began to drift off, confused by all of it.

On his desk, his presents for the first night of Hanukkah sat unopened.

*

“About time you got here,” Kenny told him, as Kyle jumped with a startled squeak.

Kyle looked around to find himself in his pajamas and hat, without shoes, standing in the snow. It wasn't too dark out, and he saw the snow illuminated by a large security light.

He also saw the gravestones.

Turning back around, he saw Kenny and another boy. The boy was trim and bald, dressed in a onesie of some sort. He held out a smooth hand, the color of all races mixed.

“Nice to see you again, Kyle,” Korx greeted him, “I was just thanking Kenny here for restoring me to the Timeline. Again.”

“Sorry about that,” Kenny apologized.

“It's OK, I've got the new Stoley-X-1a Temporal Discriminator to prevent that now!” Korx laughed, holding up his hand to show them the device on his wrist.

“Uh, OK?” Kyle nodded. “Say! I remember _you_! You're a Goo-, I mean, a time refugee! You were in our class!”

“Correct,” Korx smiled, “I came through the doorway out on 285 with my family.”

“285?” Kyle asked Kenny, feeling a chill, but realizing that so far, he hadn't felt the cold. “This is a dream, right?”

“Maybe,” Kenny shrugged, “I come here almost every night. Korx just started coming the other night. Craig was here, too, but he was older. Seventeen, I think?” Kenny turned, making a grandiose gesture at the weeping angel statue. “The son of a bitch is still here!”

“What do you mean, _still_ here? I've never seen it here?” Kyle wondered, “And did you say 'restored'?” He asked Korx.

“Saving Leopold Stotch's life brought me back, again,” Korx explained, “Kenny here is making a real mess of the future, you see, Kyle. In this last pass, before he killed Mrs Stotch, _she_ killed Butters. Rather, Trent Boyette did.” Korx pointed to a small gravestone that bore Trent's name. His year of death read 2013.

“Every time someone is saved, someone else dies,” Kenny explained, “And I killed them.”

“You brought back Butters, _and_ me,” Korx reminded him, “And your actions made it possible that Kevin Stoley would become the CEO of his own time travel company.”

“And it seems that now Trent's dead for it,” Kenny countered, his voice rising, “And even _he_ didn't deserve that! He went insane in prison. Five years for a crime he didn't commit, and another five when _we_ framed him again! Do you _blame_ him for wanting to kill us?” Kenny turned to face the statue again. “Come here, Kyle. It's time you saw. I knew you'd come – eventually.”

“How did you know?” Kyle had to ask. “And where's _here_?”

“I call this the Trans-Time Dimension,” Korx explained, “Think of it as the dressing room where Time goes to change her clothes.”

“And I got here, HOW?” Kyle persisted, looking around the disturbing scene of the winter trees in the moonlight.

“Because you have a gift, Kyle,” Kenny replied, “And when you wake up tomorrow, you'll bring me and Butters to your house for the second night of Hanukkah. And I'll tell you all about this. But for now, get your ass over here and look!”

Kyle stepped forward, and Kenny pointed. It reminded Kyle of the Ghost of Christmas Future in the Charles Dickens tale, _**A Christmas Carol**_. Kenny's arm was level, and his hand and finger seemed far too long and bony as he pointed at the angel.

TWEEK TWEAK  
2000-2016  
And the Angels wept

“2016?!” Kyle gasped, dropping to his knees, “But it's not...it's...it's only...?”

“You're five years in the future, Kyle. How do you like what I've done with the place?” Kenny asked, his voice full of sarcasm. “But at least Craig's grave isn't here – this time!”

“Craig?” Kyle gasped.

“Sometimes, there's another statue,” Kenny explained. “Craig is buried right next to Tweek, you see. If he dies, that is. He shot himself in the head, or he did, or rather, he will. He _might_! Fuck it, I gave up on tenses,” Kenny went on, “I saw it happen. He blew his head off, right about where you're kneeling.”

“Tweek died in Red Racer on that highway?” Kyle asked, his voice breaking, “Craig killed him?”

“Perhaps not,” Korx countered, as the scene suddenly shifted to that lonely stretch of highway. “This is where it happened.” He pointed to the bloody pavement, and the tire tracks.

Kyle knelt again, looking at the tire marks. He looked at both sets, the Corvette's and the truck's, then to the other lane at the shorter, S-shaped ones.

“This was an oncoming car?” Kyle wondered, remembering Kenny's story about Craig hitting a semi head-on. “There was a car coming behind the truck? Hidden? It cut out, and forced Craig to swerve?”

“That's what we think,” Kenny agreed, as the wind picked up.

Kyle cocked his head, and his skin broke out in goosebumps. “It's almost like someone singing?” Kyle wondered, his mind drifting. For a frightening second, he thought he was going to phase out of existence again.

For just a second, he was staring at himself. He realized that he was seeing himself through Kenny's eyes. Then he was staring at Kenny and himself, but from Korx's perspective. He could feel the chill wind on his bald head.

And then Kyle was himself again.

“How's it feel, having a real superpower?” Kenny asked. “Sucks, doesn't it?”

“What just happened?” Kyle gasped, feeling himself all over to make sure he was really there.

“You were Kenny, and then you were me, for a second,” Korx explained, “It's a rare gift. There's only been one other, that we know of, in a thousand years who could be everything, and nothing, at will.”

“You _really_ can't die,” Kyle nodded to Kenny, “You've been here. You heard the police call.” He paused, feeling suddenly nauseous. “You tried to stop it, the _very_ first time it happened?”

Kenny looked away. “I came to you first, Kyle. I left your house, and when I did, I killed myself. When I do that, or used to, anyway, I would go back to that same morning. It's like rewinding that one day.”

“So why didn't you stop the crash?” Kyle asked.

“I tried,” Kenny sniffled. He then began to walk away, and the boys followed him. “I tried so fucking hard! The first time, I couldn't find Craig. I knew he was planning to take Tweek to Denver. I don't know why. I guess it was some romantic getaway. Hell, I don't know! I never thought to ask. I hunted him, called him, all damn day! And it happened again,” Kenny covered his face with his hands. “And so I reset the Timeline.”

“You killed yourself _again_?” Kyle gasped.

Kenny nodded, his crying becoming sobs that shook his entire body. Kyle went to him, and Kenny didn't resist as Kyle held him.

When he'd gotten control again, Kyle noticed that Korx was still silent. He just seemed to be observing, but his face was sad, too.

“I tried to go to the police, but what was I going to say? Beg a ride out to the middle of nowhere? I tried to take my bike out here, but I was hit by a car,” Kenny explained, “And I died.”

“How many times?” Kyle dared asked, not sure if he wanted to know.

“I don't know,” Kenny choked, “But every damn time, something stopped me from getting here. I even tried stealing a car once to do it, but I got caught. I hung myself in the jail cell to go back. I knew I only had one day, but...” Kenny shook his head. He looked up at Kyle. “It's OK, though! I don't mind, really! It doesn't hurt for long, and I'm _totally_ healed when I resurrect, you see.”

Kyle's jaw dropped. “You killed yourself, for _him_?” Kyle paused. “For _us_?” He remembered R'Lyeh, and Kenny's sacrificing himself. He remembered each time that Kenny had died. “Oh, God, Kenny! Why?”

“They were good to me,” Kenny shrugged. “After the Black Friday thing, when everyone saw how tough I had it, things started to change. I mean, you and Stan were always good to me, but Craig helped me build a new bike to get to work with. Tweek saved food for me and Karen. Clyde, Jimmy, all those guys, too, would take me in when Mom and Dad were really going at it. Any you, always there for a hot shower, laundry, or a meal. It meant a lot, Kyle. It meant a _lot,_ and how did I pay them back? I found that damn car in the Weatherhead barn, Craig's dad bought it, and it's all my fault!”

“Your dad _didn't_ go to prison, before?” Kyle asked.

Kenny shook his head. “No. Kevin went to prison for armed robbery, and I took whatever jobs I could get to take care of Karen. Thank God for the Tuckers and Tweek, helping with her.”

“So what happened, five years from now? I mean, a year ago? What-fucking-ever!” Kyle had to ask, “I know you didn't just give up?” He guessed, finding himself on the verge of crying, too.

“I was almost here,” Kenny held out his hands, “I rode my bike again. It took hours. I damn near froze. I would have called one of you guys, but would you have believe me? What could I have said? Anyway, I was on my bike. It was so cold, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. I guess I must have passed out, and someone picked me up.”

“The next day?” Kyle guessed, and Kenny nodded again. Kyle felt his tears begin. “And it was...too late for you to go back and try again?”

“I would have just ended up in the hospital bed, that next morning, if I'd killed myself,” Kenny sighed, “And Tweek would still have been dead. I spent nearly a year looking for a way to use this damn curse to fix this shit, and I _finally_ found it!” Kenny then took Kyle by the shoulders, staring into his friend's eyes. He wanted so badly for Kyle to understand. “Be me, Kyle. Just for moment, **be** me!”

*

Smoke from the burning menthol cigarette curled into the crisp air, carried away in varying and chaotic forms on the breeze. There was a promise of spring on that breeze, but as the boy in the orange jacket knew, there was no guarantee of that. Spring could come early in the Colorado mountains, but more often than not, it came late. Really late, some seasons. Sometimes, it snowed in early June. School could be out for the 'summer', and there would still be piles of snow in the parking lots.

He inhaled deeply on the cigarette, his third since getting up that morning. He smirked. Everyone thought he was 'carton-a-day' chain smoker or something, but in reality, he seldom went through a new pack in two or three days. The damn things cost nearly ten bucks a pack, and money was a valuable resource: hard fought for, and to be conserved. Conserved, that is, unless his little sister needed something. He took another drag, sensing the approach of another, long before he saw him.

“Teachers be damned,” he scoffed, peeking around the corner of the imposing brick building to see a boy in a yellow poofball hat coming up the front walk.

Limping up the walk.

The limp was nearly imperceptible, but as many times as he'd been injured in his sixteen years of life, he knew how to spot an injury. He knew how to see pain.

The boy in the yellow poofball hat was in pain, too.

 _I knew you'd come, Guardian Angel,_ he could almost hear the voice of his sister, as if she were standing right there. It was strange, yes, but so common for him that he tended to ignore it. They had a name for people who heard voices, once you were too old for imaginary friends.

“Step on a crack,” Kenny McCormick mumbled to himself, taking the last drag of his cigarette and crushing it out under his boot, “Break your mother's back.” Not that he cared much about that. He was amazed that his worthless father hadn't done that already. “Step on a crack, stumble,” he rephrased it, just as the boy in the yellow poofball hat did just that.

Kenny knew he'd stumble.

He'd watched him stumble over that same crack three times already.

“Grab the door handle, pull, wait for it...” Kenny paused, as Craig Tucker did just that. “And fail,” he sighed, watching as Craig tried his left arm instead, and got the door opened. “Toddle down the hallway, lost,” Kenny went on, talking to himself. “It's all familiar, somehow, but also totally alien.”

He'd watched it thrice already.

Today he would not.

Today, he would stay in his smoking nook by the school's chimney, hidden from view by the dumpsters.

He just couldn't stand to watch it again, Craig staring around at the gray-green walls and rows of lockers, pulling a paper from his pocket with some numbers on it. He'd walk up to the nearest locker, and begin counting down the row until he came to his. It was near the library doors, he remembered, and the classes for office management and stuff were across the hall. Craig would fumble with the combination lock for a moment, as if the fingers of his right hand refused to do all that his brain was telling them.

And then their friends were there. Kyle was there. But Kyle wasn't Kyle. Kyle was Kenny.

They went to Algebra. Jimmy was explaining things. PC Principal was subbing. Craig was confused.

Then the bell rang.

*

Kyle flinched as he came back to himself, his eyes wide. He was shaking his head in disbelief, the taste of cigarette smoke still in his mouth.

“How many times did you relive that day?” Kyle finally gasped, almost expecting to see a teenage Craig come limping up the road wearing his yellow poofball hat.

“Too many,” Kenny admitted, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Kenny,” Korx finally spoke up, “You just might have to accept that Tweek was – is – destined to die.”

“NO!” Kenny exclaimed, “I can't _accept_ that! He's out there, somewhere!” Kenny held up his arms, waving them about, as the sky filled with uncountable points of multi-colored lights. It was was if an unknowable number of Christmas lights had been turned on in the sky, with colors that Kyle had never seen before.

But then he remembered.

“When I phased,” Kyle breathed, staring upwards, “I saw _this_!” He pointed up, “And each light was...was a...something? Something new? A place, a time, a person?”

“All of that,” Kenny agreed, holding out his hand, where a single point of light still glowed.

“ _How_ many times?” Kyle had to ask, feeling awkward in doing so, “How many times did you relive those five years?”

“Just once,” Kenny shrugged, “But then, I was with Leo. Butters, that is. For the first time, I let someone in. I let someone know. That's why I can't leave him. Not _this_ time.”

“You left him?” Kyle wondered.

“After five years,” Kenny nodded sadly, “There's a Timeline out there where I let it...I let this happen...again,” Kenny choked up again. “I was with Leo, and I missed the chance. We lost track of time. We were happy together, and it cost Tweek his life, _again_. Maybe Craig, too. It was selfish, and it was stupid!” Kenny fell to his knees and sobbed once again.

Kyle wept.

Korx remained silent.

For how long the three boys knelt on the highway, no one was sure. The only sound was the wind, and it sang softly. It rustled the tall grass, and Kyle looked up.

“Don't,” Kenny said, taking his hand.

“Don't what?” Kyle wondered.

“Don't look over there, in the grass,” Kenny shook his head, as he stood up.

The highway was gone.

They were back in the cemetery.

“How'd we get back here?” Kyle wondered.

“That's just how it works,” Korx shrugged, “Even I don't know everything.”

“But you know _enough_!” Kyle snapped at him. “Your people, from your time, can physically come back! If you know what happened, then why the fuck don't YOU fix all this?” Kyle waved his arms around. He gave Korx a deadly look. “I don't trust you, Korx! You're from a hell of lot further up the Timeline that we are! With our present being your past,” Kyle saw the logic to it, “Then we all exist simultaneously. You guys could find out what caused the wreck, and YOU could save Tweek! Why the fuck are you putting Kenny through all this shit?!” Kyle demanded.

“I can't tell you,” Korx sighed, looking sad, “Let's just say, my people learned the really hard way to not go back and mess things up. I mean, look at what we did? Do you know how many people were wiped out of existence, because of how you Presenters reacted to us?”

“Presenters?” Kyle wondered. Then he got it. “Us in our present! Got it!” He thought about it. “No?”

“A shitload,” Korx replied, “Including me, more than once!” He held up his wrist.

“Wait a minute, you called that thing a 'Stoley'?” Kyle realized.

Korx went a bit pink. “Remember when some of the parents did that _**Future Self and Me**_ fraud?”

“Yeah? Stan's folks did that,” Kyle nodded.

“Well, Eric Cartman made the mistake of coming back to congratulate himself on becoming the CEO of his own time travel company,” Korx explained, “And in doing so, the little psycho wiped himself out of that future. Fortunately, the Timeline is a lot more resilient than you think. Stepping on a bug in the past won't destroy history in the future,” Korx went on, “So when Cartman became an overweight, drug-addict, drunk mechanic out of his own spiteful actions, the Timeline put Kevin Stoley in his place to keep things going.”

“You make it sound like Time is a person, or, a conscious entity of some kind?” Kyle wondered.

“She's a fucking whore,” Kenny sighed again.

“I can't tell you,” Korx shrugged, “And for that, I am truly sorry. But we don't interfere, Kyle. Not anymore.”

“Then why are _you_ here?” Kyle cornered him with his own argument.

“An unintended side effect from Kenny leaping backwards in time,” Korx answered, “We had nothing to do with that!”

“Then _who_ did?” Kenny complained.

Korx thought about it. “You did,” he finally told Kenny.

“Figures. It's _always_ me,” Kenny sighed, stretching out on the ground and using Trent Boyette's gravestone for a pillow. Under different circumstances, it might have been comical.

“I told Yates all about Trent, a couple hours ago, from my perspective,” Kyle then admitted, “About how we framed him.”

“Oh, fuck me!” Korx threw up his hands.

CRASH!

They all looked towards the maintenance shed. “What was that?” Kyle gasped.

“You sure you wanna know?” Kenny asked.

“It might not be, this time,” Korx shrugged, “Things change, after all.” He then pointed down the driveway, where a white Ford Ranger was pulling up.

Then it vanished.

Next to the shed, hidden in the shadows of the leeward side, Kyle then saw the blue Impala SS that had belonged to Grandma Stotch shimmer and vanish.

“What's in there?” Kyle repeated, seemingly unaffected by events shifting around him.

“Go and see,” Kenny pointed, “I can't stand to see _that_ again, either.”

Kyle began to walk to the shed.

“It's not easy, Kyle,” Kenny called after him, “In fact, it's harder than hell! But you _know,_ Kyle! You _already_ know what's in there, don't you?”

Kyle's hand stopped, inches from the door handle. The door had been forced, he could see, and shoved almost shut from inside. A scrap of brown fabric, and a red bit of yarn, were caught on the splintered doorjamb. There were tracks in the snow.

Kyle recognized the boot tread pattern.

“NO!” He screamed, kicking the door open and lunging in.

Stan Marsh lay dead on the floor, an empty green whiskey bottle clutched in his cold, dead hand. His eyes were closed, and his expression was oddly serene as Kyle stared down in horror at him.

He was wearing his red poofball hat.

 _No one wears hats anymore_.

“No!” Kyle whispered, his breath making a puff of mist that hung in the air between them.

“You weren't there for him, Kyle,” Kenny's voice echoed, as the shed began to spin.

*

“ **STAN**!” Kyle Broflovski awoke screaming in his bed.

Kicking off the covers, he jumped up and turned on the lights. He was panting and shaking, and he made it to his trash can just in time to vomit. When he'd recovered, he went to the bathroom he shared with Ike. He brushed his teeth again, then, on impulse, checked his socks.

They were clean.

Kyle shivered, and turned to head back to his room.

“Kyle?” His mother asked, as he met her at the door, “Bubbie, what's wrong? I heard you yelling?”

“I...I had a nightmare, Ma,” Kyle explained.

“About Stan?” Sheila asked.

Kyle nodded.

“You wanna tell me about it?”

“No, Ma, not really,” Kyle shook his head, as he let her lead him back to his room. “I'll be OK now, Ma,” Kyle added, sitting on the edge of his bed with her. _It's not five years, I'm still twelve,_ Kyle realized, as she held him. Despite the weight she'd lost, Sheila was still a formidable woman, and Kyle was a bit small for his age. It comforted him.

“Not exactly how we planned to spend the first night of Hanukkah, with an ER visit,” Sheila told him, “I can't believe that wicked old woman!”

“I can't either, Ma,” Kyle agreed, as he sat there and just let her hold him until the worst of it had passed.

“You did the right thing, Kyle, all of you,” Sheila assured him.

When she'd gone, Kyle went to his mirror. He stared at himself for a long time. He remembered the poofy “Jew-fro” he'd since shaved down. He touched his smooth cheeks, and remembered Craig's five o'clock shadow from his vision of the future at Tweek's place. He wondered when he'd have to start shaving. On impulse, he pulled his pajama top off and stared at his lack of physique. He stared at the bandage on his forearm. A bit of blood had oozed through; it would need changed in the morning. He then pulled off his pajama trousers, staring at the naked prepubescent boy staring back at him.

Other than the bandage on his arm, nothing looked any different than it ever did.

“You're pretty much a eunuch, Kyle,” Kenny had told him, “Asexual. And that's OK.”

“We're not sixteen or seventeen. We're all twelve or thirteen. This is seventh grade. No hats, it's Hanukkah, and I'm sure that I'm right here, right NOW!” Kyle assured himself. He hugged himself. He pinched his other arm. “OW! No one can drive yet. Craig's car doesn't even run. Kenny's in the hospital with Butters, and Stan's home in bed, and...”

Stan.

The word echoed in Kyle's mind.

Stan _wasn't_ there in the cemetery shed, passed out drunk, and frozen to death.

No. Stan Marsh was home in bed. He was asleep, just like Craig and Tweek.

Just like everyone else.

Once he'd convinced himself that he was indeed still twelve, Kyle put his pajamas back on and got back into bed. He was so cold.

“I was hot, at Tweek's,” he wondered, as his mind began to race again.

The angel statue of a gravestone.  
The highway.  
Korx from the far future.  
Stan lying dead in the shed.

“Tweek dies,” Kyle told himself, “Kenny wasn't lying. Tweek _died_ , and Kenny's trying to stop that!”

_And all those times? All those deaths? How many times? How many deaths?_

_How many suicides?_

_No greater love has any man..._

Some time later, and Kyle had cried himself back to sleep.

*

“He isn't coming back tonight, is he?” Korx asked, as he and Kenny stared at the shed.

“No, he's awake now,” Kenny replied. “Or asleep. Either way, he's not here.”

“Are _we_ even here?” Korx asked, shrugging. “Do you think he'll join you?”

“Two of us stand a better chance,” Kenny nodded.

“Then why is the angel still there?” Korx wondered.

“I don't fucking know,” Kenny growled in reply, “But Stan's not,” he pointed to the shed, where the door had reassembled itself, and where no tracks led up to it.

“Well, at least that part's fixed?” Korx offered. He waited. Kenny just lay there, staring at the night sky where the constellations passed slowly overhead. A shooting star went by.

“Does it really matter, here?” Kenny asked, “Every time I come back, it's different. Someone's dead, then they're not, then they are.” He thought about it for a bit. “I should probably stay away from Kevin Stoley, shouldn't I?”

“Ya THINK?!” Korx exclaimed. “Kenny, I don't mean to be rude, but when it comes to altering Time, you've got all the delicacy of a WWF star at a ballet lesson, you know that?”

“Yeah, well I feel like a ballerina who just got sacked by the Denver Broncos!” Kenny replied, snickering at the analogy. “So fair's fair, OK?”

“Well...?” Korx shrugged, glancing from the shed to Kenny. “So, uhm, are you gonna do something about...that?” He pointed to Trent's gravestone that Kenny's head was resting on.

“Nope. Figure I caused it, anyway.”

“ _You_ killed him,” Korx replied bluntly. “He came after Butters anyway, and you killed him.”

“And _you're_ interfering,” Kenny reminded him. “Besides, Kyle told Detective Yates about what we did to Trent, in nursery school, and in fourth grade. All that's going to change now, now that Kyle is back in the real world. Wherever that is,” Kenny added with a groan. “Grandma Stotch is dead, Trent will still get out of juvie, sometime, but who can say how he'll die? Maybe one of the sixth-graders, I mean, eighth-graders, will kill him. They've all got a bone to pick with him, too,” Kenny theorized.

“Yeah, didn't see that one coming,” Korx had to admit. “Kyle's a wildcard, to say the least.”

“Kyle does what's right,” Kenny countered, “He just goes about it a bit differently than I do!”

“You don't see it, do you?” Korx asked, “You told Kyle about it, and you just don't realize it? Seventeen year old Kenny realized it.”

“What?”

“How you got back to being twelve, after you missed the chance?” Korx reminded him, “The lightning strike threw you back when you committed suicide in Craig's car, remember? Yet you let the Timeline unfold, once, where you and Leo had a relationship. You left him to come back again.”

“I couldn't let it happen again,” Kenny nodded, trying to remember.

_It was raining. 'You look like a duck, Leo!'_

“I'm sure it'll all come back to you, in time,” Korx replied, as he got up, turned to go, and then vanished.

“Shit,” Kenny grumbled, as he woke up in the hospital bed with Butters sleeping next to him.

 


	16. Remember Me, for Centuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Butters and Kenny still hospitalized, Kyle goes to Tweek's shoppe to try and take his mind off of the strange dream about the cemetery and highway. While trying to get a grip on his newfound (old) power of phasing himself out of existence, Kyle has an accident with it, and learns what true love feels like. The coffee shoppe also gets another strange customer. But things aren't exactly right when he returns, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Underage kissing. Some fluff.  
> There could be typos in this, as I want to get this week's update posted before the ice storm hits here!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 16  
Remember Me, for Centuries**

*****

Kyle Broflovski was trying to not dwell upon the disturbing dream that he'd had that past night. Instead of going with his parents to pick up Butters and Kenny from the hospital, he decided to stay home and try to make sense of it. That, or forget it. He'd played video games, watched TV, and spent some time online. Still, nothing was taking his mind off the dream. With Ike gone to Firkle's house again, Kyle finally decided to go down and get the guest room ready for two again.

With Linda Stotch still in the mental ward of Hell's Pass Hospital, and Randy Marsh's TV show making an utter mess of Kenny's house, the judge of the South Park family court decided that it would be best to do what Gerald Broflovski suggested. Never mind that the judge was already up for review for two counts of reckless child endangerment, and that Gerald had promised “to make his life a living Hell”. This resulted in giving temporary custody of Butters and Kenny to Sheila and Gerald, until such time as their parents were capable of caring for them again. Temporary custody of Karen McCormick was given to the Tuckers, and Tricia was elated. Craig was annoyed. Tweek was freaked out.

Still, all of that didn't make Kyle feel any better. The more he tried to make sense of it, the more agitated he became. Part of him couldn't wait for Kenny to get there, so that he could discuss it with him. Still, another part of him wanted nothing to do with it. It was that part, Kyle thought, that didn't really believe it. Kenny and some kid from the future, a Gooback (rather, a time refugee), and himself meeting up in sort of other dimension outside of time and space?

_This is where Time goes to change her clothes._

Add to that his experience at Tweek's, where he'd briefly jumped into the future, and it was almost too much for Kyle to handle. When he'd finished with the guest room, he decided to go downtown and see for himself if Craig and Tweek were OK. He hoped the distraction would calm his nerves until Kenny arrived back at his house.

“I think I'll be spending a lot more time out in the garage,” Craig told Kyle, as Kyle was browsing the pastry case at Tweak Brothers coffee shop. He was trying to be aware of everything going on around him, to see if he could “slide” again. At least, that's what they'd agreed to call it, as neither one really had a word for it. That, and calling it 'time travel' sounded a bit cheesy, in that they'd seen real time travel first hand. After Timmy's wheelchair adventure, after all, having a very realistic vision just didn't count.

“It can't be that bad, with the girls,” Kyle told Craig, as Tweek was packing up Kyle's order.

“NRGH!” Tweek suddenly and violently twitched, tossing the bag in the air. Kyle caught it effortlessly, almost as if he knew it would happen.

“That happens a lot these days,” Craig pointed out.

“HOW can you BE so _calm_ about it?” Tweek squeaked, “Do you KNOW what they DID to ME last night?”

“Yeah, I saw it on Facebook,” Kyle answered, “Tight cornrows and short braids just aren't your look, Tweek!” He snickered.

“ARGH!” Tweek exclaimed, tousling his own hair with both hands.

“Babe, you haven't had a haircut in almost a year,” Craig reminded him.

“I can't STAND it!” Tweek shuddered, scattering Kyle's change all over the counter, “I get in a BARBER'S chair, and I FREAK out! Nrgh! What if he cuts my _ear OFF_?”

“That's what happened to Vincent Van Gogh?” Kyle offered, “And he's famous!”

“HE'S DEAD!” Tweek countered.

 _Craig committed suicide, right about where you're standing,_ Kyle remembered the dream.

“You're not helping, Kyle,” Craig put in. “Tweek, honey, it'll be OK,” Craig assured him, reaching over to hold his hand until Tweek settled some, “We can hide here, or in the garage, until Christmas break is over.”

“If you say so!” Tweek agreed, as he went to check an urn.

“And work on _that_ car?” Kyle asked, realizing that he'd emphasized the word 'car' a bit too much.

“Let me get the door for you,” Craig offered, as he escorted Kyle out. Once outside, Craig glanced over his shoulder to make sure Tweek wasn't looking. He then grabbed Kyle by the front of his shirt. “I'm going to tell you ONE more time, Kyle – and you tell Kenny again, for me! NEVER mention this accident thing in front of Tweek again, OK?”

Kyle, taken by surprise, looked straight into Craig's eyes.

 _Cobalt_.

That one word filled Kyle's mind, and as he grabbed Craig's wrist with his free hand, the same thing that had happened the night before happened again. Just as it had with Davey at the house he was robbing, it happened with Craig: Kyle Broflovski became Craig Tucker.

 _I am everything, and nothing_.

“I like Gay Craig,” Thomas Tucker was saying, and Kyle found himself looking up into Craig's dad's face, through Craig's eyes. The man wore an expression of sincerity that Kyle had never seen on his own father's face. “I love YOU! Here's a hundred dollars.”

The best way for Kyle to think of it was like that movie, _**Being John Malkovich**_. It was if he were Craig Tucker, seeing what he saw, knowing what he knew.

“What the fuck?” Craig muttered to himself, as he decided to get up and face it. “I get paid to be gay?” He then left his house to walk downtown. He was walking with his head down, though, as if afraid that should he look up, he might fall in a hole or something.

“ _But I'm not gay! And neither are you!”  
“What difference does that make?” Tweek asked._

Craig just kept walking, and Kyle felt his confusion. He felt frustration, anxiety, and fear. But he also felt the hurt. Images of downtown were overlaid, much like a photographic double-exposure, with images of Tweek.

“ _And just who the hell is Michael, huh?” Tweek was demanding to know, as the whole school looked on in shock._

There were tears in Tweek's eyes.

Real tears.

Craig just hadn't realized it at the time. He'd thought that Tweek was just overacting, following his script for a fake breakup to stop the whole gay-thing. But now, he realized, Tweek hadn't _been_ acting. And all the things he'd said, while Craig had been working on his bike? Working on his bike, without even looking at Tweek.

“I just wanna fix whatever's hurting you.”  
“You'll just have to go be gay with someone else.”

“OK. OK, Craig.”

And Tweek had walked away.

Kyle could feel the pain as he remembered, or rather, experienced, Craig finally looking up to see Tweek walking away. He could remember hearing the hurt in Tweek's voice. Kyle-Craig's stomach twisted, and his chest tightened. He felt nauseous, and a bit dizzy. He stared at Tweek, growing smaller and smaller in the distance, until he was just a speck.

Then he was gone.

Tweek was gone, and it hurt.

Then Kyle-Craig was walking downtown again, looking all around. He spotted Tweek walking down Main Street, with his head down as well. Now and then, Tweek would look around, as if he expected something to happen. He was trembling, as usual, but his face was different.

There were tears in his eyes again.

His shoulders were hunched, his head down, and his step was slow. He scuffed the toes of his shoes on the sidewalk. His hands were crammed into his pockets, and Kyle-Craig thought that such must be how a dumped-out pet felt: no idea where he was going, and nowhere _to_ go.

Abandoned.

“Oh, God – what do I _do_? What do I _say_? I was such a _dick_ to him,” Kyle-Craig fretted, as Tweek drew closer and closer. Kyle-Craig crossed the street, about a half a block in front of Tweek. He waited at the edge of the sidewalk, deciding to say nothing.

He simply held his hand out as Tweek looked up.

For one awful, eternal moment, Tweek just stared at that offered hand. Then he looked up at Craig. At Kyle-Craig

 _He's going to tell me to fuck off!_ Kyle-Craig thought, _And I totally deserve it_!

And then Tweek took his hand.

What Kyle, as Craig, felt next was confusing. It overwhelmed him, and he had no context in which to put it. He hadn't felt anything like that with Rebecca Cotswolds. He hadn't felt it for Leslie (non-human ad or not), Nicole, or for Heidi Turner. The word that best described it, for Kyle, was relief.

But it was more than that.

Craig, or rather, Kyle-Craig, was staring into Tweek's green eyes. Kyle had never paid much attention to eyes before; in fact, he couldn't have said what color eyes that his own family had. Or Stan. ( _What color are Stan's eyes_?) But in that moment, he couldn't be sure of where Kyle ended and Craig began. The one thing he was sure of, though, was where Craig ended. It was standing right in front of him, staring back at him: Tweek Tweak.

Tweek, who smelled of coffee, pastry, and faintly of laundry soap.  
Tweek, whose hand wasn't trembling anymore.  
Tweek, who'd made all of those awful feelings in Craig go away.

Kyle also realized that this was something new for Craig as well. It was unusual for the normally stoic Craig Tucker, or so Kyle thought. It was a running joke that Craig didn't experience emotion, much like a Vulcan from _**Star Trek**_. Even during their trip to Peru, Craig had been so deadpan and serious while he'd complained relentlessly. He wasn't even impressed with the cave of Incan wonders. Even finding out that his coming had been prophesied, and that he had shot lasers from his eyes to stun the Guinea Pirate, Craig had simply sighed and accepted it. It made Kyle think of the _**Star Trek**_ episode, _**Requiem for Methuselah**_ , and the android Rayna Kapec. Rayna, who'd 'died' when she'd experienced the emotion of love for Captain James T. Kirk.

Kyle-Craig was holding Tweek's hand.

Kyle had held hands before, even with another boy, such as on field trips, but it hadn't felt like this. It hadn't been so warm. It hadn't been so soft. It hadn't had any meaning.

It hadn't made him feel...this.

This wasn't holding his mom or dad's hand, or Ike's when he had to.

And whatever _this_ was, it felt important.

“I can't let go. If I let go, I think I'll die!” Kyle-Craig thought, unsure of who took the first step. He simply held onto that warm little hand as they walked down Main Street, for all the town to see. Tweek was shorter; he'd never noticed that, either. Kyle-Craig was vaguely aware of people cheering and clapping, and of Token staring at them in shock.

“Dude, I don't care if you're gay! It's all cool. But after that fight at school, I was worried you were hauling him off to beat his ass!” Token had explained later.

“They weren't _ever_ pretending!” Kyle realized, as he suddenly became very uncomfortable with what he was feeling. No one, and Kyle thought NO ONE, should ever know what someone felt for another – except for the object of that...emotion. Tweek could know. Tweek _should_ know. But not Kyle.

“THIS IS WRONG!” Kyle gasped inwardly, imagining that he could literally see the love sparkling in Tweek's eyes.

He let go of Craig's wrist.

“ _Do_ you understand me?” Craig Tucker asked, his voice sounding unusually angry.

“I...I, uhm, OK?” Kyle fumbled, feeling the heat in his face.

“Kyle, you OK?” Craig asked. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...it's just that, I don't want Tweek to -”

“Yeah, it's OK,” Kyle managed, looking for some sign in Craig that the other boy might have noticed how Kyle had just inadvertently violated him. _God, that's something that NO ONE else should EVER know!_ Kyle thought, feeling ashamed, and somehow dirty inside, for what he'd done. He had shared in what was probably, to date, the most intimate moment in Craig's life. At least, _he_ thought that it probably was. It it wasn't, he was certain that he did NOT want to know that, either.

But at the same time, Kyle realized that he'd just learned what it was like to be in love. Craig loved Tweek more than even his own life, and that sensation was overwhelming. Kyle stumbled backwards to a bench, and sat down hard as Craig just barely had time to catch him by the arm and keep him from falling over the bench. Kyle was panting. _And when he remembers that Tweek is dead, five years from now, it'll destroy him!_

“Dude! What _is_ it about you almost passing out when you come here?” Craig wondered.

“I...I dunno,” Kyle gasped, realizing that he'd never felt such an emotion before.

“You're pretty much a eunuch,” Kenny had told him, and Kyle wondered if he'd ever feel that emotion again – in himself. Or for whom? A girl? Or maybe a boy? Thinking about Heidi didn't hurt anymore, granted, but Kyle was fairly certain that he didn't feel anything remotely close to _that_ for anyone else.

“Look, I still think Kenny's full'a shit,” Craig said, “But with all that other stuff he was right about, I guess I – you know? Shit! I dunno what to think, OK, Kyle? But I know I don't want Tweek to know about it.”

“So you believe him now?” Kyle had to ask again.

“I dunno,” Craig shrugged, “But I sure as hell hope he doesn't keep on this for four years!” Craig looked away. Kyle got hold of himself just in time to look up to see Craig wipe his sleeve across his face. “You don't think Kenny's just saying this shit, because he's jealous of me, do you?” Craig then asked.

“I don't think so,” Kyle replied, “Kenny doesn't seem that interested in cars.”

“I meant Tweek,” Craig admitted, “But yeah, good point.”

“No, Kenny's pretty serious about Butters,” Kyle assured him.

“I was gonna help him rebuild his bike, before he got hurt,” Craig added.

“You still can,” Kyle replied, getting shakily to his feet. “I mean, he could hand you the parts, and sit there and clean stuff? He's not a vegetable, you know. He'll be able to ride by spring.”

“I guess seeing him in that wheelchair makes me nervous,” Craig admitted.

“Because of what Kenny said about Timmy, and his operation?” Kyle countered.

“Yeah. He knew that Timmy could have died.” Craig paused, staring back through the shoppe window at Tweek, who was wiping the counter. Tweek looked up and waved questioningly. Craig waved back, as if waving him off. Tweek shrugged, smiled, and went back to wiping the counter. Craig smiled, and Kyle found that he still wasn't used to seeing that, even though Craig was often spotted with that dumb grin on his face when he thought no one was looking.

“You know, if you guys get bored, or just wanna get away from the little sisters, you can come over, and like, play video games, or board games, or just hang out?” Kyle offered.

Craig nodded. “Tweek might like that,” he agreed, “He doesn't really know what to do with a little sibling, especially little girls.”

“Well, there's plenty of food. Mom's on a Hanukkah cooking binge for another five nights,” Kyle reminded him. “And Kenny and Butters are kinda freaked out by it, I think,” he sighed. “I guess it's the candles, or maybe the games. Could be there's no Christmas tree. Probably the songs,” Kyle surmised, “Mom really belts it out sometimes.”

“So you get presents for eight nights?” Craig asked, sounding interested. “I have enough trouble thinking of what to get Tweek, for just one gift, and I'm afraid he's going to have a nervous breakdown trying to find a gift for me.”

“It's usually one gift per night, from Mom and Dad,” Kyle explained, “And it's not like Cartman thinks, either! It's not dumb stuff, like a new dreidel every night.”

“Cartman's a dick,” Craig agreed, “Oh, and speaking of, thanks for tossing him outta your house. He's been in here a couple times, hinting around about wanting to do stuff. I guess Stan's had it with him, too?”

“Well, at least Stan had the excuse of helping rebuild Kenny's house, with his dad,” Kyle explained. “But yeah, I think we've all got sick of Cartman,” Kyle shrugged, “He's never gonna change.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed, as he headed back towards the shoppe's door, indicating in his own way that the conversation was over.

“Well, you know where to find us, Cupcake. Later!” Kyle reminded him.

“Dammit! You don't get to call me that!” Craig went back inside, grumbling. Kyle turned to go, trying to not laugh at the look on Craig's face, but still feeling disturbed by what he'd just done. Still, it seemed that Craig hadn't even noticed it.

Kyle certainly hoped he'd not! Surely Craig would have mentioned it?

“So how's it feel, having a real superpower?” Kenny had asked him.

“It sucks,” Kyle told himself, as he walked home.

He was just passing by the 'hippie gift shop', with its temporary plywood repairs to where the car had crashed into it. There was a long table out on the sidewalk with a large SALE sign that caught Kyle's attention. He noticed red and white, and saw that the table was filled with leftover items from when the Canadians had been coming to South Park to escape their new president. It seemed like so long ago to Kyle, and it reminded him of President Garrison's attack on Toronto. He wondered if Charlotte had been there, and how Butters had felt about the whole thing. He looked at the unwanted merchandise, figuring that most of it would just be written off and thrown in a dumpster.

Then he saw it – a white hoodie with red trim, and a large red maple leaf on the front. It was a boys' size 'L', and said CANADA across the back.

“You can have all that junk,” an employee snapped at him, jolting Kyle back to reality. “It's been here forever. It'd probably make a decent shop rag!”

Kyle glared at him, but he did take the hoodie. He also took a six-pack of black socks with red cuffs, heels, and toes. Then he grabbed up the whole pile of T-shirts, and the remaining hoodies. He even found a snap-off wind suit.

He just hoped that Ike would like it.

“I'd be happy if he'd even tell me he _hated_ it,” Kyle sighed, hoping.

*

“What's wrong?” Tweek asked Craig, as Craig came back inside the shoppe.

“Nothing,” Craig replied, noting the look on Tweek's face that indicated that he wasn't buying it. “Kyle almost fainted again,” Craig shrugged, “I think the fumes in here get to him.”

“Fumes?” Tweek snorted, leaning over the counter as Craig perched himself on a stool. “So, are we gonna spend our whole Christmas break in here, or what?”

“What do you wanna do, Babe?” Craig asked in reply.

“Oh, I dunno, _Cup_ cake,” Tweek grinned, leaning his elbows on the counter. He stared at Craig. Craig stared back. The bell on the door jingled, but neither of them heard it. Tweek leaned in a bit. So did Craig. Their lips met, and Craig tasted coffee and peppermint.

“That's so cute,” Clyde Donovan observed.

Craig nearly fell off his stool, and Tweek gasped and threw his counter rag in the air. It came down on Clyde's head.

“Boy, now that's service,” Clyde snickered, “You two should really go in the back room, you know!”

“Clyde, just...” Craig rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Thought you were in the hospital?”

“Dad just got me outta the joint,” Clyde informed them, “Couple'a bruised ribs, is all. Detective Yates was there this morning.”

The other two boys looked sharply at him.

“Relax,” Clyde assured them, looking in the pastry case, “So far as he knows, only Stan and Kyle came over to see Butters. Kenny gave him some story about falling out of his wheelchair and breaking his leg all the way. Oh!” Clyde remembered, “Seems that Yates ran into Mysterion in town last night, too. That eighth-grader, Davey, and some other guys were robbing houses and taking Christmas presents! Mysterion busted him!”

“Mysterion?” Tweek wondered, raising an eyebrow.

“I'd say he's got someone impersonating him, to throw the cops off his trail,” Clyde surmised.

“That's what I'd do,” Craig agreed, checking the bandage on his stitches. He looked at Clyde, remembering those things that Kenny had said about him. “You OK?”

“Ribs are just a little sore. Dad wants some carrot cake,” Clyde pointed out, “And I want a -”

“You get the no-sugar, organic stuff from now on,” Tweek interrupted him, pointing at the other case. “The stuff I make special for Scott!”

“Awww, don't tell me you believe that stuff Kenny said about me?” Clyde complained. “I want a cream horn!”

“NO!” Tweek firmly told him.

“We didn't even know you'd been sick, but _he_ did,” Craig countered, suddenly feeling a chill. Clyde and Tweek looked around the room, as if they'd felt it, too.

“Look, if you're gonna rip on me for only having one test-”

“No,” Tweek interrupted him again, bagging up a large coconut flour-dark chocolate brownie for Clyde. Craig could see that he was starting to tremble again. “Sugar feeds cancer!” Tweek blurted, “What if you eat this stuff I make, and get sick again? ARGH!” Tweek's left eye began to twitch. “You could relapse and die! It'd be MY FAULT!” Tweek cried, and Craig went around the counter to get him. He knew the signs of an impending meltdown, and he had to head it off.

 _And this is exactly why I don't him to know that Kenny thinks he's gonna die in my car!_ Craig thought.

Craig took Tweek in his arms and smoothed hair, patting his back with his free hand.

“Tweek, I'm not sick anymore,” Clyde assured him, “And I won't get sick, so long as I eat right and stay in shape!”

The door bells jingled again, and another boy walked in. He looked to be about their age, and wore a light blue onesie. He was also bald, but seemingly unaffected by the cold. He grabbed a napkin, and wiped a bit of purple goo from his shoulder. “Missed a spot!” He greeted them his accent hitting the consonants a bit too hard, “How you doin' guys?” He asked, checking his wristwatch. “Craig, Clyde, and...Tweek!”

The boys all stared at him in amazement. Even Tweek quieted down.

“I _know_ you!” Clyde gasped, “You're Korx! You were in our class when the time refugees came!”

“Yes,” Korx smiled, “I am glad that you remembered me!”

“So, are you guys all coming back again?” Craig wondered, sounding unimpressed.

“That's the Craig I remember!” Korx smiled, “No, it's just me. It's a social call.”

“I thought you all just disappeared?” Clyde asked.

“Some of us did, some of us came back, some didn't,” Korx shrugged. “But the calculations only show a two percent chance that me coming back to see you will cause any disruption to history.”

“Wow, K-Kevin would _love_ to see YOU!” Tweek exclaimed.

“Not a good idea,” Korx disagreed, as he ordered some pastry and cocoa to go. “Can I pay you with this?” He offered Tweek a box from his backpack. It was a plain white box, about the size of a _**POP!**_ doll package. “Look inside,” Korx told Tweek, “But just you, OK?” He then shook hands with Craig and Clyde, citing his lack of manners. Clyde wiped a bit of purple goo from his hand.

Tweek looked in the box. Inside was a chunk of heavy rock, with a card that read: COLORADO METEORITE, YEAR 3000. Tweek closed the box, and he smiled. “Nrgh!” He twitched slightly, just once, then smiled as his whole demeanor relaxed. “It's perfect!”

“Well, good seeing you again! Gotta go now!” Korx smiled, as he touched his wristwatch and opened a portal. He stepped through, and the portal closed.

“That was random?” Clyde wondered. “He remembered us, for all those centuries?”

“What the hell?” Craig asked, as Tweek ran for the back and locked the box in the safe. “What's in that box?” Craig called after him.

“NOTHING!” Tweek replied, “It's a surprise! For Christmas! I MEAN, **NO**! It's _nothing_! Oh, God!” He gasped, “This is _way_ too much pressure!”

“So, does Tweek have a boyfriend, in the year 3000?” Clyde snickered.

“Shut up, Clyde,” Craig grumbled, still wondering what was in that box.

*

When Kyle Broflovski arrived home, he found Butters watching TV, and Kenny asleep. Kyle was disappointed, as he really wanted to talk to Kenny, but he also didn't want to bother him if he was sleeping. His mother was in the kitchen, and his father was not home from work. He took his haul of Canadian apparel to his mother, who deemed it all just perfect and promised to wrap and hide it.

“I'm sure he'll love it, Bubbuhla,” Sheila assured him.

“I hope so,” Kyle shrugged. “They just _gave_ it to me, Ma. They were gonna throw it away.”

“I know, son,” Sheila sighed as well, “Why don't you and Leopold play something while I finish dinner? Poor Kenny's been asleep most of the day, since we brought him home. That awful detective really upset him this morning. He was going to come and talk to you and Stanley, but Gerald put a stop to that!” Sheila added proudly. “Carol was by to bring him some spare clothes, and we had a nice chat.” She shook her head. “I can't believe the state of his clothing,” she told Kyle, “And those boots of his? The soles are coming off!” She waited. “Maybe Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin will bring him some new ones?”

Kyle just shrugged, ignoring the joke. _Is that all it is now? A big joke? Cartman would love that one._

“Thanks, Ma,” Kyle smiled wanly, as he went in to see what Butters wanted to do. He knew what 'nice chat' meant, and he really wasn't up to hearing about it. What he really wanted to do was to talk to Kenny about what had just happened with Craig, and why. _If this is going to happen every time I touch someone, I'm gonna start wearing gloves all the time again_!

“Well, hey, Kyle! How's Craig and Tweek and them?” Butters greeted him. “I didn't see you come in!”

“You were busy,” Kyle replied. “They're fine. I got us something for later.” He handed the bag to Butters, then sat and watched him play the video game.

“What's wrong, Kyle?” Butters asked, as he paused the game when he realized that Kyle wasn't getting into it. It had just reached one of the points where the boys were usually all cussing and yelling at it.

“Are you and Kenny OK with being here? Over Christmas break?” Kyle came right out and asked. “Because if you're not, you could-”

“Uhm, whadda'ya mean, Kyle? You mean, like how you don't have a Christmas tree?” Butters looked around. “But you got that real pretty, big candelabra?”

“Menorah,” Kyle corrected him, “Thanks.”

“And those stars? Well, I like them,” Butters nodded. “And mom might tell a nurse or someone where my presents are,” Butters then sighed. “Probably just stuff I'd get grounded from, anyhow. I can wait.”

“I'm sorry about that, Butters,” Kyle offered. “I didn't open my first two gifts, because I didn't want you guys to feel left out.” Kyle leaned back and closed his eyes. “Hell, I don't even know what Ike got, or if he even opened my gifts to him.”

“Are you nuts?” Kenny then asked, as he came rolling out of the guest room. “You think I ever get much for Christmas from my worthless parents?”

“Oh, Kenneth! You're up!” Sheila interrupted, “Thought I heard you! Missus Lu Kim, Wing is it? She was here earlier, and brought your pay envelope. She brought a few sacks, too. Things you've ordered?”

“Thank you!” Kenny smiled, winking, and Kyle suspected something.

“I expect you boys to participate tonight, too!” Sheila informed them, as she headed upstairs, shouting at Ike.

“Kenny, I really need to talk to you,” Kyle said.  _Hang on, when did Ike get home?_

“You look like you've seen a ghost?” Kenny's eyebrows went up.

“No, I think I _was_ a ghost – again,” Kyle replied.

“Oh?” Kenny cocked his head.

“Whadda'ya mean?” Butters wondered.

“I had another experience,” Kyle explained, “This time, with Craig.”

“What's that mean?” Butters persisted.

“Tell him, he'll believe it, in time,” Kenny nodded.

Kyle turned a bit pink. “I have this ability...to...leave my body,” Kyle explained, looking around to be sure his mother wasn't listening. “I, well, I sort of...I grabbed Craig's wrist, and when I touched him, I _became_ him for a while!” Kyle blurted it out. “I was seeing things, memories, through his eyes!”

Kenny just nodded. Butters looked stunned.

“Nuh-uhh!” Butters scoffed.

“Yeah,” Kyle told him, “It was scary as hell!”

“Future?” Kenny asked, nonplussed.

“Past,” Kyle shook his head, remembering all those feelings again, and trying to keep back tears. “It was awful,” Kyle went on, “I felt like I was...intruding? Like I didn't belong there. But I didn't _mean_ to do it! It just happened!”

“You mean, sorta like a Vulcan mind-meld?” Butters asked. Kyle then felt Butters touch his hand.

The room spun away, and Kyle found himself in Butters' bedroom.

“YOU JUST DON'T LEARN, DO YOU, MISTER?” Butters' dad was screaming at him, holding a folded belt in one hand, and gently slapping his other hand with it. Through Butters' eyes, Kyle saw him coming towards him. He saw the wild look in Steven Stotch's eyes.

And Kyle felt terror.

He screamed.

“Kyle?” Butters gasped, giving him a shake.

But Kyle didn't see Butters. He saw Mister Stotch coming. He felt the man grab him, then throw him down the bed. His pants were being yanked off, and the first sting as he heard the WHOOSH! of the belt being swung was the worst pain that Kyle had ever felt. It made his ordeal with having an infected hemorrhoid seem like popping a zit.

Kyle-Butters screamed again.

SLAP!

Again, the boy screamed.

“I didn't know! I didn't mean to, Dad!” Kyle-Butters cried desperately, “PLEASE don't hit me again! If you'd told me about the movies and wrestling, then I'd'a...”

Kyle suddenly jumped up, his hands going to his butt.

He was back home again, and Butters and Kenny were staring at him. Butters' face was very pale.

“The time that Butters caught his dad going out with other guys?” Kenny wondered.

“That's the exact s-same words I said!” Butters gasped.

“Don't touch him again, Butters,” Kenny advised, staying Butters' hand. “That's what he's talking about! He just phased out, and became _you_ for a second! Kyle?” Kenny nudged him with his assist stick for grabbing things, “Kyle, you're right here. You're real, you're home, and it's OK!”

“I...I know,” Kyle gasped, still feeling the searing pain in his buttocks. He looked at Butters, then burst into tears.

“That's how you found Davey, wasn't it?” Kenny asked, when Kyle had calmed down some. Butters had gone to get him a drink, and he was shaking as well when he returned.

“Huh?” Kyle managed.

“You slipped into Davey's mind, and it led you to him,” Kenny surmised. “Yates told me all about it. You really fucked up his idea that I was Mysterion!” Kenny laughed.

“This isn't funny,” Kyle protested, “I feel like I...I just...raped...Butters – mentally!”

“No, I know what that feels like,” Butters admitted. “I didn't feel a thing! Honest!”

“Really?” Kenny wondered, “Then I'd say Craig didn't notice it, either?”

“I saw T-Tweek, trying to apologize to him,” Kyle explained, “When they got back together. When everyone thought they were just pretending, because the whole town was so sad. I was such – I mean – Craig was such a jerk to him.”

“You haven't seen the half of it,” Kenny sighed. “You don't even wanna know what Tweek's death will do to him.”

“ _Death_?” Butters gasped, “You mean...all that stuff you said – it's _real_?”

Kenny nodded. “Your mom will be released to come back home in about four weeks,” Kenny told him, “Wait and see. She'll get everything that your grandma had, including the car, which you'll get when you turn sixteen and get your license. At least, that's how it's happened already, from my perspective. This,” he tapped his leg cast, “Didn't happen before. Then again, Kyle didn't have to pretend to be Mysterion, either. That's all new.”

“I had this dream, too,” Kyle offered.

“I was wondering if you were going to bring that up,” Kenny nodded, “About the cemetery?”

“ _Cemetery_?” Butters gasped again.

“There was a Goob-, I mean, a time refugee kid there,” Kyle remembered, finding that it was all coming back to him in shocking clarity. “His name was -”

“Korx,” Kenny interrupted.

“I remember him!” Butters smiled, “He was nice!” Butters looked at them for a moment. “Wait a minute? How'd you see him? He's a thousand years from now, up there in time?”

“If that future still exists, then he's watching the past. Our present,” Kyle nodded, shaking off his mood, as his logical side kicked in. “I remember that he wasn't happy with you?” Kyle asked Kenny.

“He's not,” Kenny agreed, “But fuck him! If he's from the future, he _could_ help with all this mess!”

“You mean he won't help, with how you told me about Craig's wreck?” Butters asked, “Well, that's just awful!”

“So you believe this?” Kyle pointedly asked Butters, who nodded. “And you believe me?”

“No one could'a known what Kenny said about me, and no one knows what my dad did to me,” Butters blushed. “Those pictures of us are gonna be on pedo websites forever, now.”

“Wait, what?” Kyle asked.

“If it's OK with Butters, I think you should know,” Kenny offered, “What I mean to say is, only Butters and me, and a few other boys involved, know about it. Why don't you see if you can do it again?”

“You mean, pull it out of Butters' mind?” Kyle gasped, “Oh, HELL, no!”

“Kyle, right now, you're probably the most dangerous metahuman in the world,” Kenny told him, “And that includes me. You already know that I can't die, and you know what I've been through. If you don't learn to get control of this thing you've got, you could end up becoming a dolphin, or a camel, or something, or wind up being someone else – like Cartman – and not remember being Kyle! Or worse, you could end up brain-raping someone that pissed you off, and turning him into a mental vegetable, or something!” Kenny glared at him. “This isn't playtime, Kyle. This is dead serious.”

“I don't mind,” Butters offered, “I feel, you know...? I feel better, now that Kenny knows it. Dad did it to him, too.”

“Oh?” Kyle looked sharply at Kenny.

“He did, in one timeline,” Kenny nodded, “I cut this one kinda short, turning him in. I jumped the gun a bit, and that changed things, too.”

“What if I hurt him?” Kyle wondered.

“You won't,” Kenny assured him.

“How do you know?” Kyle retorted.

“Because you care about him,” Kenny replied. “You care about everyone. Sometimes, too much.”

Kyle just stared at him as another bit of his dream came back.

“Stan died,” Kyle said in a very small voice. “In the future. He froze to death, drunk, in the cemetery gardener's shed.”

“Oh, shit!” Butters gasped. Still, he offered his hand. “I knew that Stan was still drinking,” he added sadly.

Gently, Kyle took his hand.

Nothing happened.

“Let go of it, Kyle,” Kenny reminded him, “Let go of the fear, and the doubt.”

Kyle tried to do that. He relaxed, concentrating on Butters' hand.

“And so I push, tear down these walls!” Lorde was singing, and Butters was dancing around his room in a tutu. This time, however, Kyle was seeing it as if he were standing to the side, watching. He concentrated on talking. He described it.

“Right!” Butters said softly.

“Keep going,” Kenny encouraged him.

“It's a very popular theme in art,” Steven Stotch was telling his son, “And if you're going to learn all about art, well, the nude is a part of it.” They were looking at images online, at what Kyle assumed to be a legal website. “These are photo taken by someone named Glidden, I think his name was, back in the early 1900's in Italy.”

“But there are naked boys!” Kyle-Butters gasped, feeling his dad's arm around his waist.

“They're posed, Butters,” Steven explained, “They're not doing anything sexual, you see. The idea is to capture the nude form, in an artistic way. What do you think?”

“I think it's kinda gay?” Kyle-Butters offered, once again feeling that if he said the wrong thing, even if innocently, he'd be grounded. Or beaten.

“What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing, sir,” Kyle-Butters added hastily. “Couple'a my friends are gay, and they're cool!”

“Exactly,” Steven agreed, and Kyle-Butters could feel his hand moving, touching his thigh. “Would you like to pose for some pictures like that?”

“If...if you w-want me to, sir?” Kyle-Butters agreed, more out of fear than anything.

Kyle wanted to pull back. It was wrong, he felt. His friend had been violated – by his own father, no less. The one person in the world that Butters should have been able to trust, to go to for anything, and the man had violated his own son.

And now Kyle felt as if he were violating him as well.

Kyle tried to pull back.

“Now, lift up the hem of your tunic, just a bit,” Steven was saying, as studio lights were flashing in time with the click of the camera. “That's good! Now, turn more to the side. Look off at the wall. Good! CLICK. Now just let the tunic slide off of your shoulder. CLICK! Good boy!”

 _I'm naked! He's taking naked pictures of me!_ Kyle-Butters realized, feeling the tunic fall away.

“Do you think any of your friends can be trusted to join us, Son?” Steven asked.

“AIGH!” Kyle yelped, pulling his hand back and breaking the connection with Butters. He was sweating again, panting, and his face had gone pink. He looked around the room quickly, trying to get his bearings, and fighting down the urge to run.

“What happened, Kyle?” Butters asked, as if nothing were wrong at all.

Kyle described it, right down to the trim pattern of the tunic, the sandals, and even the leafy laurels he'd worn on his head.

“Sounds right to me,” Butters shrugged, but it was clear that he was bothered by it, too. He nudged Kyle with his elbow. “There were some really nice pictures,” Butters explained, “And he never hurt me. Thing is, I was never afraid of him in the studio. He was a lot nicer in there, taking those pictures. It was nice, when he'd pose me, or tell me how good I did. It was nice to get touched, without getting hit, or hurt,” Butters sniffled.

“It just... it just makes me wanna … cry,” Kyle hung his head. “My dad can be a real dick sometimes, but he's never...”

“I know,” Kenny nodded. “If nothing else, I think all this has made your folks realize some shit. They're sure a whole lot better people now, than they ever were before I started changing things.” Kenny paused. “About this time of my life, your mom banned me from ever coming here,” Kenny admitted, “She said I was a bad influence, that I'd turn out just like Kevin. I guess I changed that, too?”

“I'm glad,” Kyle whispered, looking back at Butters. On impulse, he hugged him. “I'm sorry, Butters!” Kyle apologized, “I never wanted to -”

“Oh, it's OK, Kyle,” Butters assured him, “Say, nothing happened then, did it?”

“No?” Kyle replied, glancing at Kenny, but still holding Butters.

“You're getting it,” Kenny poked Kyle's arm. “See?” He smiled. “Actually, I'm relieved that it's you that got this thing. Korx said that one of you only comes along once in about a thousand years.”

“That was his name! I remember him now! Korx!” Kyle exclaimed.

“I miss him,” Butters repeated. “You think he might come back and see us?”

“I doubt it,” Kenny answered, just as Kyle's phone lit up. He answered it.

“KYLE!” Clyde's excited voice said, “You'll never guess who was just here, at the coffee shoppe! Guess, Kyle, come on! It was right after you left!”

“Clyde?” Butters asked.

“Clyde,” Kenny rolled his eyes.

“Who was it, Clyde?” Kyle asked politely.

“You remember that kid, Korx, from the future? He came back to get some donuts!” Clyde told them, sounding as if he might burst with excitement.

“Korx?” Kyle asked, and all three boys looked at one another for a moment.

“What the _fuck_ is HE doing?” Kenny growled, smacking the armrest of Timmy's borrowed wheelchair. “Ow,” he added, rubbing his side.

“He came back to get donuts?” Kyle wondered.

“And cocoa,” Clyde added, “Listen, I gotta go! My dad's honking the horn. Later!” Clyde hung up.

“He's watching,” Kenny reminded Kyle, “Remember how he said he wouldn't interfere? How the people in the future pretty much messed things up, by coming back to begin with?”

“Was that when everyone got gay?” Butters asked, and Kyle and Kenny both nodded. “So what does he want, then? Other than donuts? Don't they have donuts in the future?” Butters wondered, which made Kenny smile.

 _How can you not love this boy?_ Kenny thought.

“You think we could find out?” Kyle asked Kenny, his eyebrows going up.

“I don't know,” Kenny thought about it for a bit. “I think we should probably get you stabilized in the here and now, before you go trying to get into Korx's head in the future.”

“You can _do_ that?” Butters gasped.

“I don't know,” Kyle shrugged.

“Don't try – yet,” Kenny suggested. “But if Korx shows up in that limbo dimension again, I'm gonna have words with him!”

“What's that?” Butters asked, so Kenny explained it to him, and Kyle, as best he could.

“And you go there, every time go to sleep?” Kyle wondered.

“Not every time, but often enough,” Kenny replied. “It changes. Sometimes it's the cemetery, sometimes it's the highway where Tweek died.”

“I still can't get used to hearing that,” Butters shuddered. “But look at it this way, guys – we still have four years to fix it!”

Kenny's head began to hurt. _Sweet, innocent Butters, even after all he's been through,_ Kenny thought. “That's what I've been trying to do, and failing, for about a thousand lifetimes now, it feels like,” Kenny sighed, closing his eyes.

“Well, uhm, yeah, but now there's three of us on it,” Butters nodded happily. “Why don't you just sabotage Craig's car the day before he goes, then?”

“Or kidnap Tweek,” Kyle shrugged.

“I've tried just about everything,” Kenny told them, “Craig and Tweek are nowhere to be found that day, and that's the problem. It's not like I can put a tracking device on them.”

“Well,” Kyle shrugged, “We've got four years to formulate a plan. And since I'm pretty sure that I'm me, right here, right now, there's only one thing to do.”

“What's that?” Butters asked.

“Have a big dinner, and open presents!” Kyle finally smiled.

“You got us presents?” Kenny asked, grinning. “Well, this is new, too. We never did this before.”

“Ooo-da-lolly!” Butters exclaimed happily, but then his smile faded. “I didn't get you anything, guys. Not with bein' in the hospital.”

“That's not the point, Butters,” Kyle explained. He then looked back at Kenny. “You never were here for Hanukkah?”

“My dad never tried to kill me before,” Kenny shrugged, being careful of his rib.

“I never had a Hanukkah night with even one friend, not even Stan,” Kyle sighed, looking over his shoulder as he heard feet pounding down the stairs.

All three boys turned to see Ike coming down the stairs with another boy. He had messy blond hair, and wore a dull green jacket over khaki cargo pants.

“Hey, fags!” Ike greeted them, as the two younger boys headed for the kitchen.

“The HELL is _he_ doing here, and HOW?” Kenny gasped, as Ike and Teddy Hastings went for the refrigerator with Sheila in hot pursuit, yelling at them about ruining their dinner.

“K-Kenny?” Kyle stammered, “Isn't he...d-dead?”

_A rock was tossed into the pond, the ripples spread away._

 


	17. More Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Hanukkah night at Kyle's house. Kyle fills in for Mysterion again, after changes to the Timeline affect everyone but for the boys. A bit of social media interaction. Kyle busts a criminal, and his changes to the future prompt a visit from Korx in that dream dimension. Kyle discovers that Korx has a secret, as well as his own agenda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some underage romance. Nothing graphic. Some violence and hate.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 17  
Ripples**

*****

“Ike?” Kyle asked, as the two younger boys came back through on their way upstairs.

“Yeah?” Ike replied.

“What's goin' on?” Kyle asked.

“Same shit, different day,” Ike shrugged, in a tone of voice that more than indicated that he really didn't want to talk to Kyle and his house guests. “Just thinkin' up somethin' to drive PC Principal nuts with.”

“That sounds about right,” Kenny muttered, remembering that Ike's Gang was going to be the reason for the man to change jobs in about four years. Then again, Kenny didn't recall any of his previous incarnations in which the principal had married Strong Woman, either. As far as Kenny knew, they were in the proverbial uncharted waters. Kenny made a note to ask someone other than Kyle about the wedding that had turned the town on its ear, as he couldn't remember when it had taken place.

“Yeah, he's all like, 'Oh, Ike's a Canadian, so you have to be considerate,'” Teddy said in a mocking tone.

“I am so sick of his shit,” Ike exhaled hard, looking down at his shoes. “It's like, I'm so damn sick of people reminding me that I'm different! It's not like the top of my head flaps up and down when I talk, or that I have little black dots for eyes! I don't even have a Canadian accent, Buddy! I was raised in America!”

“Not at all, Pal,” Teddy agreed.

“Yeah, no one would know, unless you told 'em,” Butters agreed, “It's always something, Ike. Other kids, well, they'll make fun of whatever they can find. Glasses, big ears, a bad haircut, whatever. Just ignore 'em.”

“And remember, you're a Canadian Knight, Ike,” Kyle reminded him, “You've been decorated for heroism. Throw _that_ in their faces.”

“I guess,” Ike sighed, “Thanks.” It was the most he'd said to his brother at once in as long as Kyle could remember.

“He just misses Firkle,” Teddy whispered, when Ike turned to go.

Ike rolled his eyes, as he and Teddy went upstairs without another word.

“So much for my presents for him,” Kyle groaned.

“Now, hang on,” Butters cut in, “If Teddy's supposed to be dead, and I dunno, since I didn't know him – and he's not dead now – then why do _we_ remember that he _was_ dead?”

“In temporal mechanics, it's sometimes possible to experience the results _before_ the event that triggered them,” Kenny explained.

“What?” Kyle made a face. “Dude, we're twelve, OK?”

“I'm not,” Kenny reminded them. “I'm seventeen, up here,” he tapped his head, “And I've done this thing more times than I care to remember.”

“Then try an' talk like you're twelve,” Butters wrinkled up his nose. “Does that mean, like in dog years, you're dead?” Butters added jokingly.

“You dunno how many times I _wished_ I was,” Kenny groaned, looking at that sincere, round face that he'd been looking at for the last five years, in that other abandoned Timeline. “The only good thing about it is, I get to do it all over again. With you.”

_But if I'm seventeen inside, even though my body's only twelve, and Butters is twelve, is that OK? I mean, we had a relationship, we did things, and...stop thinking about that, Kenny, you're going to freak yourself out! The only difference is some chemical stores in your brain that remember things._

_Yeah, and look at what happened this last time you got involved with him! You let the accident happen again!_ The Other told him.

Butters blushed.

“OK, so I had time to study theories about time,” Kenny joked, which wasn't all that funny. “The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that this is a Poga Paradox.” Butters and Kyle blinked at him. “A situation that occurs when an attempt to prevent a certain event in the past ends up causing that same event. This theory is an extension of the Predestination Paradox.” The other two just sat there looking constipated as Kenny recited the definition. “What if my coming back to try to prevent Tweek from getting killed is what kills him in the first place?” Kenny rephrased it. “We know he dies. I've seen it, too many times. But he's not dead yet, in the here and now. What if my coming back was what killed him, which ended up being what sent me back?”

“Then it sounds like you're stuck,” Kyle nodded.

“Exactly,” Kenny sighed.

“Well, I bet Kevin Stoley would understand all this,” Butters put in. “But it's not Tweek now, it's this Teddy kid?”

“Is this a result before the cause?” Kyle asked, looking really bummed out.

“I think so,” Kenny agreed, “Remember, I've seen just about everyone that I care about end up dead, come back, die again, and every time that something changes, someone different ends up dead. Timmy died when they cut a misplaced artery in his head, and when I prevented that, Clyde died of colon cancer. Stan drinks himself to death right after Craig's accident, in which Tweek dies, which causes Craig to kill himself. So when Stan's death get prevented,” Kenny gave Kyle a hard look, “This Teddy kid turns up dead. It's like Time just isn't satisfied with killing Tweek. It wants someone else, too.”

“You said something about ripples before,” Kyle recalled, his brow wrinkling in concentration. “I think it was in the dream? You or Korx? It was about how going back in time was like throwing a rock into a pond. You get ripples in every direction? A circle of ripples or something?”

“Like that DC movie, _**The Flashpoint Paradox**_?” Butters asked.

Kenny nodded again. “And if Clyde wasn't bullshitting, and Korx really did come back to get donuts, then his just coming here could have made more ripples. Maybe those ripples haven't reached the shores yet, and when they do, we'll remember things differently.”

“But why would someone come back a thousand years to just get donuts, and say hi?” Kyle asked, “That's stupid!”

“Maybe we should ask Craig and those guys? They were there,” Butters offered, “They could come over, after dinner?”

“So long as you don't invite that awful Cartman boy,” Sheila agreed, when Kyle asked her. “They can come after dinner and the ceremonies, since Teddy has to be home before then, anyway.”

“No chance of Cartman, Ma,” Kyle assured her, as he called up Craig.

“We'll be there!” Craig agreed quickly, “I'll call Clyde.” He paused. “You sure...you want _me_ to come over?”

“Yeah?” Kyle replied, “It's all cool, Dude. I'm sorry. I got this new game the other night, when we were in the ER. I just got around to opening it. It's four-player.”

“Well, Token's gone to Switzerland for Christmas break, and Jimmy's got bronchitis,” Craig added, “So it'll just be the three of us.”

“AIGH!” Kyle could hear Tweek in the background. “ _ **No**_ , Tricia!”

“God dammit, Tricia, now he looks like fuckin' Pebbles Flintstone!” Craig yelled at his sister.

When he hung up, Kyle remembered what Kenny had said, and called Stan. He hadn't seen much of his best friend since Randy Marsh had started having him help out with the _**White People Renovating Houses**_ show, and he missed him. Then again, Kyle realized, he hadn't seen much of Stan before that, either.

“Sure, Dude, I'd love to come!” Stan promised.

The boys arrived just after dinner, and Tweek brought a batch of his specialty cupcakes. Gerald and Sheila thought it was a wonderful opportunity to educate the other boys about Hanukkah. The boys all received gift cards for music downloads, including Butters and Kenny. Kenny also received a package of socks from Kyle.

“Socks?” Craig wondered.

“You can _never_ have too many socks,” Kenny smiled.

“Or underpants!” Tweek added, “Ask for _more_ underpants! The **Gnomes** , man! They're watching us! Nrgh!”

“I, uhm, dunno if I did this right,” Stan told Kyle, as he handed him an 11x14” flat box. “I mean, since I'm not Jewish, and I never got you a Hanukkah present before?”

“That doesn't matter, Stanley,” Sheila assured him, “God's celebrations are open to anyone who believes.”

 _Sure they are,_ Kenny thought, _I wonder if Lovecraftian Horrors or Eldritch Abominations are welcome?_

Kyle opened the package, and as he did, his head spun a little bit. He could feel the anxiety coming off of the box, as if Stan had left a mental imprint on it. He also felt depression, and oddly, shame. As he tore the paper, the ripping sound triggered a flash of memory: Stan's dead body lay frozen in the cemetery shed, an empty Jameson whiskey bottle clutched in his hand. Then, as Kyle stared in horror, Stan's body disappeared, being replaced by a stack of bagged mulch. The vision cleared, and a sense of relief swept over Kyle as he opened the box.

It was a framed picture of an ornate map.

“That's the Mediterranean coastal area of the Middle East, with Israel's borders,” Stan pointed at the title, “'As Defined in the _**Torah**_ by God'. That bookstore where Wendy likes to hang out had it. She found it, really.” Stan paused. “Dude, I'd have had no clue what to say, but Wendy made me memorize it. I'm sorry.”

Kyle ran his hand over the map, then looked at Stan again. “I love it!”

“This is really old, Stanley,” Gerald added, leaning over the back of the couch and studying it closely.

“It's marvelous!” Sheila added, “And I know just where to hang it!”

“Were we _supposed_ to bring presents?” Tweek gasped.

“That's what the cupcakes were for, Cupcake,” Stan told him, giving Craig a smirk.

Craig quickly flipped Stan off, but he did smile at Tweek.

“Just give up,” Kenny told him as well.

“I think it's cute!” Butters added.

“Cupcakes are good presents,” Clyde agreed, as he'd had two of them already.

In the case of Ike, Kyle just decided to get it over with and gave him the box containing the red and white hoodie. Ike looked at it for a moment, muttered a quick “thank you,” and then took it up to his room to hang it up. Kyle looked disappointed.

“He'll come around, trust me,” Kenny reassured him, but it looked like Kyle didn't believe it.

“So what's this about seeing Korx today?” Kenny asked Clyde, changing the subject, as the boys all settled in on a four-player war game.

“He just came in and bought some food,” Clyde shrugged, “Said he couldn't stay long.”

“I guess they don't have Tweek's desserts in the future?” Craig added, which caused Kyle to flinch, and Kenny to drop his controller, thus costing his character his life.

“Oh my God, you killed Kenny!” Stan blurted.

“You bastard! But Korx didn't say anything else?” Kyle asked, as both Stan and Kyle then looked at one another.

“You get the feeling we've done this before?” Stan wondered.

“All the time,” Kyle nodded.

“Nope,” Craig answered, as he the blew Clyde's character away. “Korx didn't stay long enough to do anything.”

“HEY!” Clyde protested. “But yeah, there's not much to tell.”

“He was just glad to come and see us, then he left,” Craig finished. “But he _did_ give Tweek something to pay for it all.”

“ _What_ did he give you?” Kenny asked, as the hair on his nape stood up.

“I can't say!” Tweek replied, “It's a surprise!”

“He locked it in the safe,” Clyde added, “So it must be something good.”

“He brought you something from the future, and you put it in the safe?” Kyle repeated. “And no one else finds this strange?”

“Maybe it's some kind of future tech?” Stan wondered.

“YES!” Tweek squeaked, “NO! It's – nrgh – nothing!”

“Calm down, Babe,” Craig told Tweek, “We're not worried about it. I'm sure that a kid smart enough to time travel is smart enough to not mess up history.”

 _That's what you think,_ Kenny thought.

“Yeah, he knows what he's doing,” Clyde agreed, “I bet?”

“Well something had to have changed to make the future better, or they would have _all_ come back again,” Craig theorized.

“Maybe,” Kenny put in, “It still doesn't make sense.”

“It was just random!” Tweek added. “ARGH! Maybe he just wanted my cupcakes, OK?”

“ _Everyone_ wants your cupcakes,” Clyde grinned at him, as he blew up Craig's character with a grenade. “Take _that,_ Cupcake!” He laughed.

“Don't call me 'Cupcake', dammit!” Craig snapped.

“Go get your own boyfriend!” Tweek nudged Clyde with his foot.

“I don't _want_ a boyfriend!” Clyde replied. Then he blushed. “Sorry!”

“It's OK to be straight, Clyde,” Kenny laughed at him, “We won't tease you about it.”

“Well, you're the _last_ person I thought was gay,” Craig told Kenny.

“Although we were all starting to wonder, when you dressed up as a princess,” Clyde put in.

“It'll give the Asian girls something to gossip about, and something new to draw,” Stan offered, grinning.

“Oh, hamburgers!” Butters groaned.

“I still don't get why Korx came back,” Kyle brought it up again. His eyebrow went up, and Kenny saw it.

“No,” Kenny said to Kyle.

“No, what?” Clyde asked, as Tweek began yelling.

“I got the neutrino bomb! I got the BOMB!” Tweek yelled, as he began bouncing on the couch and wildly jabbing his controller. “Run, Craig, run!” He exclaimed, as Clyde and Butters' sections of the screen lit up in bright white, then GAME OVER in red letters.

“I WON! I WON! I never won this one before!” Tweek exclaimed happily.

“Don't try and fish the memory out of Clyde's head,” Kenny whispered to Kyle.

“OK,” Kyle agreed, but when he took the game controller from Tweek for his turn, an image flashed into Kyle's mind: a rock in a box. Kyle felt excitement, and relief. But it was just an uninteresting rock, until he saw the identification card. Kyle didn't say anything, but he did gasp and his brow broke out in a sweat. He excused himself to get a soda, and Kenny caught it.

“What did you see?” Kenny demanded, as he rolled on after Kyle into the kitchen.

“A rock. A chunk of meteorite,” Kyle answered. “I guess that sometime in the future, a meteor falls here, and Korx brought Tweek a little piece of it.”

“So he came back to bring Tweek a rock?” Kenny shrugged.

“Apparently,” Kyle shrugged too. “It's Craig's Christmas present. Tweek was really unwound about finding him something.”

“After that Gooback debacle, I wouldn't think they'd let _anyone_ try it again,” Kenny theorized.

“What if Korx is doing it illegally?” Kyle countered, “What if he's got access to a time portal, and no one else knows?”

“He's got to have an agenda,” Kenny nodded, “Other than pastries. We need to get a look at that rock.”

“The guys next door need to see it,” Kyle added, “Now that they're back together.”

“Just don't mention the time travel shit to them,” Kenny warned him, as they went back to resume their game.

“And don't mention the car to Craig,” Kyle reminded him, “I thought he was gonna punch me today. You know, for someone as smart as Craig, I don't get why he doesn't believe you, or even acts like he doesn't care?”

“That's our Craig,” Kenny sighed, “It doesn't fit his paradigm, so to him, it won't happen.”

*

When the party was over, and their guests had gone home, Stan lingered a bit. As Kyle helped Kenny get ready for bed, Stan went over Timmy's borrowed wheelchair. He oiled the front wheels and axle, made sure it was charging, and tightened a loose nut on the back handlebars. He studied the motor, which for some reason, didn't look right to him. He tightened a motor mount that had been rattling.

“Not that I know shit about these things, but this thing looks weird,” Stan commented.

“I think this is the chair that the nerds next door turned into a time machine that once,” Kyle reminded him. “Geez, if Timmy could talk better, I bet he's got stories to tell!”

“I thought all that tech got confiscated by the MIB's?” Kenny asked, as Kyle put a pillow under his casted leg.

“There's a tiny glass box under here,” Stan told him, “With a small blue crystal in it?”

“Well, uhm, maybe they missed something?” Butters wondered, as he came hobbling in on his crutches, dressed in _**Hello Kitty**_ pajamas.

“At least it's not Wellington Bear,” Kyle rolled his eyes.

“I don't see anything else odd in here,” Stan added. “You OK there, Butters?”

“Yeah, why?” Butters replied, as Stan took his crutches, and Butters got into the bed with Kenny. “It's just a bad sprain, is all. It's not broke. Poor Ken got the worst of it.”

“You won't believe your house,” Stan nodded to Kenny. “We got your mom's room done already, and the heating and cooling system working. Kevin's really getting into it. I think Dad's gonna hire him on full-time.”

“Good,” Kenny replied, swallowing his nightly meds. “Maybe it'll keep him out of prison.”

“Well, I'd hope so?” Butters exclaimed.

“Is that _another_ one of those things you know?” Stan had to ask.

“Yep,” Kenny replied, “Don't tell me you're starting to believe me?”

Stan didn't immediately reply, but his face did go pink. “I'm trying really hard,” Stan added.

“And I'm always here for you,” Kyle told him, “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“We should have done this a long time ago,” Stan admitted, “I'm sorry, Kyle, that I never took your faith or holiday seriously. I guess we all thought it was OK to want you to do Christmas with us, and it wasn't.”

“Goodnight,” Kyle told the others, as he and Stan left the room.

Stan turned and headed for the front door.

“Stan?” Kyle asked, as they stood there letting the heat out.

“Yeah?”

Kyle offered his hand. “Kenny told _me_ some stuff, too, Stan. It wasn't crazy-bad, but it was bad enough.”

“You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to,” Stan replied. Then he sighed. “Remember when you were so sick, and I was going to give you one of my kidneys?”

“Yeah?”

“How come it's not like that anymore, Kyle?” Stan asked, and Kyle could hear the hurt in his voice. “Is it gonna be like Kenny said, and we're all just gonna drift apart? Just pass each other in the halls at school, say 'hey', and that's it?”

“I hope not,” Kyle sighed, realizing that he'd been doing a lot of that lately. He just wished that there was some way that he could convince Stan of what he'd seen, of what was happening to him. But if there were a way, Kyle didn't know what it was. Stan took his hand then, and in that touch, Kyle suddenly realized that without his best friend, he'd have nothing at all.

Other than his family, which Kyle didn't really think too highly of, Stan was all he had.

 _Right here, right now, and maybe this is all I can hope for,_ Kyle told himself, _Just don't lose him to his own demons!_

Kyle suddenly pulled his best friend into a hug. It was awkward at first, until Kyle felt Stan hug him back.

“You should come by Kenny's house, if you get time,” Stan whispered, his lips just brushing Kyle's ear.

Kyle felt it, but realized that it wasn't triggering anything. On impulse, Kyle pulled back just a bit and kissed Stan's cheek.

Stan froze.

“Wh-what was that for?” he finally managed.

“I...I'm sorry,” Kyle blushed, “I just...I dunno. It's just that everything's so fucked up lately?” Kyle sighed yet again, and gasped when Stan kissed him back.

“Did it do anything for you?” Stan asked, looking genuinely curious.

“No,” Kyle confessed. “I guess it was more like...like kissing Ike, when he was little?”

 _You're pretty much a eunuch, Kyle_.

“I wouldn't know, all Shelly ever did was hit me,” Stan shrugged, pulling back, but still holding Kyle's hands in his. “But I'm not turned on, if that's what you mean? SHIT! I'm sorry, Kyle! That didn't come out right!”

“No, nah, it's OK,” Kyle assured him, realizing that he wasn't feeling anything _like that_ either. That wasn't entirely true, Kyle knew, as he was feeling a huge rush of relief, and that old feeling of camaraderie that he hadn't felt with anyone in so long. “I don't feel like... like I'd...”

“Not like you wanna make out, or anything?” Stan guessed.

“No. I'm sorry,” Kyle shrugged again, “I thought I might, but -”

“I _was_ kinda curious,” Stan admitted.

“Me too,” Kyle agreed. “I guess I'm not gay, then?”

“You might be, and I might not the be the one,” Stan shrugged.

“Not like that sudden Kenny-Butters thing,” Kyle reasoned. “Didn't see that one coming!”

“Whoo! Who'd'a ever thought? Kenny and Butters? Oh, well, Kenny says it's OK to be straight,” Stan reminded him, grinning.

“I don't think I'm _anything_ ,” Kyle admitted, “And _that's_ what scares me.”

“Whadda ya mean?” Stan said it quickly.

“People are pairing up. Tweek and Craig, Kenny and Butters, you and Wendy, Clyde and Bebe, Jimmy and his 'catch of the day', and HELL! Cartman even had Heidi for a while!” Kyle looked down at his shoes. “I must be a real loser.”

“Not true,” Stan told him, as he leaned in and kissed Kyle's forehead, “You're the best friend a guy could have.”

“Ouch,” Kyle smiled wanly.

“Come by tomorrow, if you get time,” Stan then turned to go.

“I will,” Kyle waved, as Stan headed down the walk.

Kyle watched him until he was out of sight, then closed the door.

_**-*o* -meanwhile- *o*-** _

“What do they call it, when you realize it wasn't such a great idea?” Craig asked, as he and Tweek walked home. It had just started to snow again, and the boys had stopped appreciating the beauty of the densely falling flakes in the streetlights' glow about five degrees before. Even the Christmas lights weren't so fascinating anymore.

“Hindsight,” Tweek answered, shivering just a little from the cold. The hood of his blue jacket was covered in snow, as was Craig's yellow poofball hat.

“I should have brought Stripe, then your mom could have picked us up,” Craig said.

“I like staying over at your house,” Tweek told him.

“Even with Tricia and Karen?” Craig smiled at him.

“Yeah,” Tweek admitted, “It's OK. And it's not fair to Stripe, dragging him out in the cold. Besides, my parents get on my nerves,” Tweek added.

“I know,” Craig agreed, as they rounded a corner and Craig's house came into view down the block. “We're almost there, Babe. We can get a hot bath, some cocoa, _or_ coffee,” he added quickly, “watch a movie, maybe? Lock the girls out!”

Tweek yawned.

“Or just go to bed?” Craig brushed the snow off of Tweek's shoulders and put his arm around him.

The garage lights were on when Tweek and Craig arrived at Craig's house. They found Thomas at the workbench, with the driver's side foldaway headlamp assembly of Red Racer in pieces. “It was stuck,” Thomas pointed out the battery charger, “But the other one works! Look!” He demonstrated, as the light went up and down, making it look like the car was winking at them.

“Women run you outta the house, Dad?” Craig snickered.

“Yeah,” Thomas admitted, “Good Lord, you two look like a pair of Eskimos!”

“Native Alaskans,” Craig corrected him, out of habit.

“So how goes Hanukkah?” Thomas asked, as the boys brushed off the snow, moving towards the large turbine-type shop heater.

“I'm not really sure, sir,” Tweek replied, “But Kyle's family got us some MP3 cards.”

“I think you got shortchanged, for the cupcakes, then,” Thomas smiled, reaching over to ruffle Tweek's hair. “Why didn't you call? You're nearly frozen!”

“It was a nice walk,” Craig sighed, taking Tweek's jacket and hanging it up in front of the heater with his own. “The way the snow looks in the orange lamps, how there's not much noise, and the crunch your feet make in the snow.”

“You know, that's more words he's said just now, than he did in the first eight years of his life?” Thomas told Tweek, as if Craig weren't standing there.

“The way you can't tell if you're holding hands, unless you look, because you can't feel your hands?” Tweek grinned at Craig, as the boys were trying to get their snow-crusted mittens off.

“It sounds romantic,” Thomas smiled, “You know, this one Christmas, I took your mother up to -”

“Dad, just... _Dad_? No!” Craig held up his hands.

“Why don't you two go on in and get warm?” Thomas suggested, “I'll close up shop here when I get the headlight back in.”

Craig looked over the partially disassembled Corvette, then back at Tweek. He nodded. As he ran his cold hand over the fender, he thought about what Kenny had said, and how Kyle and the rest of them seemed to believe it. _He was right about Timmy. He was right about Clyde. He was right about Stan. What if he's right about this, too?_ Craig looked over at the car's hood, standing up against the wall and covered in a protective blanket. He looked at the engine, minus the carburetor. He looked at his father, and how happy he was. Craig thought about how many hours they'd already put into the car, together.

He didn't want to lose that.

 _If it's going to happen on 285 like Kenny said, then I just won't ever go there._ He looked back at his father, still finding it hard to believe how much the man had changed since his son had been pseudo-outed. He thought about Kenny, and how unfair it was that Kenny would never have anything like this. _Hell, Kenny's dad just tried to kill him,_ Craig told himself. _Four years. And I'll be damned if I let Tweek get hurt in this thing!_

“I'll be in, in a bit,” Thomas told them, as the boys went in the house.

They found Tricia and Karen in the living room with some sort of princess castle playset out, and Craig saw something moving amongst the various dolls and other plush animals. His jaw dropped.

“Stripe, you hussy!” Craig gasped, as Tweek laughed. Craig fetched his beloved guinea pig, who was currently dressed in a pink and frilly princess outfit, complete with pointy little hat.

“Let's go,” Tweek snickered, tugging Craig's sleeve.

“This isn't funny!” Craig protested.

“Yeah...yeah, it is!” Tweek disagreed, giggling.

“So how was it at Kyle's?” Laura Tucker asked, as she brought a hot coffee for Tweek and cocoa for Craig.

“Better than it was here, I think?” Craig held up Stripe. “Mom, how could you let this happen?”

“Honestly, Craig?” Laura chortled, and Tweek finally lost it.

“The look on your face!” Tricia laughed.

“C'mon, Stripe,” Craig grumbled, heading upstairs.

“He's not mad, is he?” Karen fretted.

“Nah, he'll get over it,” Tricia assured her, but Karen didn't look convinced. “I wanna ask Craig about my brother.”

“That's fine, Karen,” Laura told her.

“But aren't they...?” Karen pointed at the ceiling.

“Making out?” Tricia asked. “Not yet.”

“TRICIA!” Laura gasped, giving her daughter a look, “I didn't hear the water heater kick on, so they're not in the bath yet.”

“Kenny's OK, he just can't do much,” Craig assured Karen, as he and Tweek were getting Stripe out of costume. “Stan said your house is coming along good.”

“Thank you,” Karen answered timidly, turning to go.

“Maybe you can go see him tomorrow, or something?” Tweek suggested, “I don't think Kyle's mom will mind.”

“He must be OK, since the Guardian Angel hasn't been around since,” Karen said.

“Who?” Craig asked.

“The Guardian Angel. He wears purple, and has a black cape,” Karen informed them.

Craig and Tweek exchanged a look.

“I'm sure he's around,” Tweek assured her, “Probably very busy.”

“I hope so,” Karen sighed, as she turned to go. “Is Butters OK, too?”

“He's fine,” Craig nodded. “They're both at Kyle's house.”

“I hate being a pest,” Karen said, looking crestfallen, “I'll be glad when the house is done. How's come they never did that before now?”

“I don't know,” Tweek shrugged, pulling her into a hug, “And you're not a pest, Karen. Sometimes, I guess, people don't think about stuff like that, until something bad happens.”

“Kenny takes care of us,” Karen told them, “What'r we gonna do, if he can't get work, or get around?”

“You'll be fine,” Craig assured her, “Things are gonna be different now. Kevin came home, you'll have a better house, and your mom will clean her up act. Kenny's sure of it.”

“I hope so, 'cause I'm really sick of Chinese food!” Karen then said, and while it wasn't funny, it was – in a way. “Oh my gosh, your face is cold!” She told Tweek.

“Let's get that bath, Babe,” Craig suggested, and Karen snickered. Craig picked up his phone and checked it, quickly pecking out a text message.

“I hope Kenny's boyfriend is as nice as you,” she then told Tweek, heading out of the room. “I think he's really lonesome sometimes.”

Craig went to run their bath, as Tweek was shivering and making little disgruntled sounds.

“Aigh! What if I said something wrong?” Tweek fretted, “What if I traumatized her? NRGH! Something bad happens? What was I thinking?!”

“Just get those cold, damp clothes off, Honey, and get in the bath. It'll make you feel better. You did fine,” Craig told him, as he locked the bathroom door. The room was beginning to fill with steam, and smelled of lavender.

“Craig, I -” Tweek started to say, as Craig was pulling Tweek's shirt up over his head. “I can do this myself!” Tweek protested, although not vehemently.

“I know, but it's more fun this way,” Craig replied, glancing over at the growing mound of bubbles.

“But what if I -”

Craig tossed Tweek's shirt and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Craig felt him relax, and felt the trembling stop.

It was, after all, the best way to head off an attack, Craig had found.

“Get in, I'm still cold,” Craig suggested.

*

“I still feel ridiculous in this thing,” Tweek said, as he stood in front of the long mirror on the back of Craig's bedroom door. He was wearing Craig's old Spaceman Craig costume, sans helmet, which had been let out a bit.

“C'mon, let's see what's new on Facebook,” Craig suggested, as Tweek yawned again. Craig got Stripe and put her on the bed.

Craig knew that from having worked that morning, and all the excitement of Kyle's new game, plus the cold walk home, that Tweek was just about done for the day. Add to that they were trying to break his caffeine addiction. The dark circles under Tweek's eyes were more pronounced, and Craig having combed the boy's wild hair down made Tweek look all the younger and helpless. Craig knew better, though. Looks could be deceiving, and he'd seen Tweek beat the holy hell out of someone on more than one occasion – himself included during their dumb Civil War phase. He tucked Tweek into the side of the bed abutted by the corner of the room, then got in next to him. That way, Tweek was protected on all sides, which was how Tweek liked it: bed in the corner, curtains closed, windows and door locked, and a nightlight. Never mind the padlock on the underpants and socks drawer, with small Legos scattered over the carpet.

Craig turned on his laptop, moving it so they could both see it. Stripe crawled up to sit on Craig's head.

“Eight new messages from Clyde,” Craig groaned.

“Figures,” Tweek agreed. “Oh, God!” He then groaned, seeing that his parents had posted a still image capture from the shoppe security cameras of him and Craig kissing at the coffee shoppe counter. It was a photo set, and there were four images.

“Oh, look, there's Korx,” Craig pointed out, the photo being titled “New Bald Kid”. Craig's eyebrow went up. “Well, if Facebook survives that long, someone in his time is gonna know he was here. So what did he give you, Babe?”

“I can't tell!” Tweek gasped, “It's a surprise! It's nothing great! Nrgh! You'll find out!”

“Present for _meeeee_?” Craig wheedled, leaning over to kiss Tweek's ear. Tweek giggled and squirmed. Craig knew all his weak spots, and his ears were the most vulnerable.

“YES! Stop!” Tweek gasped.

“Clyde's posting about Korx and Kyle's house,” Craig pointed out.

“Looks like Cartman's pissed,” Tweek snickered, as Cartman's recent posts were all about how he'd not been invited, and all the posts had numerous 'thumbs downs'. Clyde had commented: 'So **you** wanted to hang out with the Jews for Hanukkah? Doubtful!'

“Oh, shit!” Craig gasped again, as he clicked on a shared image from Cartman's wall. “Who's this guy, Harvey Hungwell?”

“I dunno?” Tweek replied, “What is it?”

“Stan and Kyle!” Craig jabbed the screen, “Harvey posted a picture! Look!”

Cartman had reshared an image of Stan and Kyle standing on Kyle's front doorstep, hugging. The next image in the set showed them kissing.

“Oh, wow!” Tweek sort of crooned, “I didn't know that?”

“Neither did I?” Craig shrugged, as he hit BACK to the main wall page. “Looks like Wendy doesn't mind?” Craig pointed out.

ERIC CARTMAN: Didn't know Kahl was a fag! (37 people dislike this)  
ERIC CARTMAN: I bet Wendy's pissed off!  
WENDY TESTABURGER: Millions of men in Europe use a kiss as a greeting every day, Fatass. (54 people like this)  
PC PRINCIPAL: And that's a week's detention for you, Dude! (128 people like this)  
CLYDE DONOVAN: No one ever kissed me goodbye?  
BEBE STEVENS: Pardon me?  
CLYDE DONOVAN: Love you! Tonight, I mean.  
BEBE STEVENS: You want Kyle to kiss you goodbye? Well, he does have a cute butt! (34 people like this)  
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: Thanks, Bebe.  
JIMMY VALMER: Everybody kiss Clyde, next time you see him! (87 people like this)  
PC PRINCIPAL: Informed consent, people! (128 people like this)  
TOKEN BLACK: Wish you were here! (36 people like this)  
JIMMY VALMER: COUGH  
(48 comments of “get well”)  
ERIC CARTMAN: A gay Jew. Now we've seen it all! (165 people dislike this)  
ERIC CARTMAN: Go ahead, hate me! Doesn't change anything! You didn't invite me!  
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: No, I didn't. (166 people like this)  
STAN MARSH: Not that I care, but who's this Harvey-creeper, taking pictures of underage boys at night? (TRENDING!)  
CRAIG TUCKER: Probably a sock-puppet account owned by Eric Cartman. (173 people like this) (TRENDING)

“Wow, that didn't take long?” Tweek observed.  
“It escalated quickly,” Craig grinned.

RANDY MARSH: Some creeper is stalking my boy? STAN?!  
PRESIDENT JENNER: Don't you mess with my buddy, Kyle! I'll run you over! (TRENDING)  
PC PRINCIPAL: You are stunning and beautiful, if I may, Madame President! (TRENDING)  
STRONG WOMAN likes this  
ERIC CARTMAN: Oh, yeah, blame me! Like I'm stalking Kyle!  
STAN MARSH: You have been, for like 21 seasons. (23,814 people like this)  
STAN MARSH: God dammit, I got sucked into this Facebook shit again! (TRENDING)  
ERIC CARTMAN: F*ck you, Stan!  
KYLE BROFLOVSKI: What's better than eight nights of Hanukkah presents? Eight nights of no Cartman! (329 people like this)  
ERIC CARTMAN: F*ck you too, Kahl!  
STAN MARSH: You wish!

“Let's see who's connected to that post,” Craig pointed out, as he worked backwards. He went from Harvey to someone else, through about six other people, including Jennifer Lopez, before finally landing on “Mitch D. Conner.”

“That idiot still doesn't know what a VPN is, does he?” Tweek yawned again, snuggling in closer to Craig.

“Like no one knows who Mitch is,” Craig snorted.

CRAIG TUCKER: You're a dumbass, Cartman. Mitch Conner originated the photo post. That means you took the pictures.  
ERIC CARTMAN: I'm not Mitch Conner!  
KEVIN STOLEY: The root IP addresses are from a free WIFI downtown. The hippie gift shoppe. You hate hippies.  
ERIC CARTMAN: You're a hippie!  
KEVIN STOLEY: Bet they all came from your phone, too! (35 people like this)

“This could go on all night long,” Craig sighed.

“It's bad enough that my parents do that to us,” Tweek complained, “'Having a gay son is so good for business.' I hate that!”

“Let's just lay back and watch the fights,” Craig decided. “Tweek?”

His reply was a deep breath as Tweek snuggled his head into Craig's shoulder. His breathing then became regular, and Craig knew that Tweek was asleep.

“Decaff and Ativan,” Craig whispered, which had been upon the advice of Dr Norris. Tweek just didn't know about the low dose tranquilizer, though, even though his parents had consented to it. “It's for your own good,” Craig told himself.

_**-*o* -meanwhile- *o*-** _

Kyle Broflovski snorted and shut his laptop. He'd messaged Kevin Stoley while the comment war was going on on Cartman's Facebook wall, and Kevin was certain that the photos of Kyle and Stan had been taken with, and uploaded by, Cartman's phone.

“This has gone too far,” Kyle decided, realizing that his decision to ignore Cartman had driven him to stalking Kyle now. “Well, turnabout's fair play,” Kyle decided, as he got out of bed and locked his door. Christmas break, and he and Stan and Kenny were hanging out with Craig and those guys. Other than kids from the other class, or guys they never paid much attention to, that would leave Cartman all alone. “And if there's one thing Cartman can't stand, it's being ignored,” Kyle mumbled, as he put on Kenny's spare Mysterion costume. After all, Mysterion needed to be seen, and the message from Craig – while vague – was pretty obvious: Little girl needs to see Guardian Angel!

Kyle opened his window and slipped out into the night, landing in a deep drift to emerge on the other side of it, thus leaving no footprints. Kenny's boots were at least one size too small, but Kyle ignored it. He checked the strap-on ice grips on the boots, then fetched his snowboard. No way was he going over rooftops without his squirrel suit, and the Human Kite wasn't needed that night.

Mysterion was.

Still, the Hero was bothered. From reading over Facebook, he realized that those 'time ripples' hadn't affected him yet. Georgie 'Firkle' Smith was dead, and Teddy Hastings wasn't. Kyle didn't see what different one eight year old or another being dead would make, in the grand scheme, but then again, he wasn't as analytical as Kevin or Craig. Not that he wished anyone dead. No. Not even Cartman. But the fact that PC Principal and Strong Woman were married was disturbing, in a way. Not that anyone hadn't seen it coming, but Kyle didn't remember it. He wondered what would happen if and when he did remember it? “When Time changes her clothes again,” he mumbled, picking up speed as he slid down the hill towards downtown. He then kicked a foot out, changing directions. He headed for #2801.

There were no lights on.

“You're not the only one who knows how to sneak in,” Mysterion-Kyle told himself, as he used a manual grappler to climb up the side of the house.

Cartman's room was empty.

Mysterion checked the ground below the window. There were no prints, but he did find fresh prints in the snow out front.

“Figures, he'd just use the front door! Lazy ass! But where would he go?”

Deciding that he really didn't care, Mysterion-Kyle headed for Craig's house. After all, Karen wanted to see him. He just hoped his voice would pass, as he pulled up the black scarf and adjusted the voice-changer.

When he arrived, he climbed up to Tricia's window. It was very late, but the girls were still up watching TV. Craig's room was dark.

“Naughty, naughty,” Mysterion grinned, although his eyes were the only thing visible. He lowered himself down from the roof. He pecked on the glass. The girls squealed and jumped, then Karen came running to open the window.

“You came! I knew you would!” Karen greeted him.

“Not to close, Honey, even heroes get colds,” Kyle fibbed, sniffling.

“Oh, OK!” Karen smiled, as Tricia stared at him suspiciously.

“Great, one of Stupid Craig's friends!”

“Super Craig, thank you,” Mysterion corrected her. “So how have you been, Karen?”

“Oh, it's OK. It's nice here with Tricia,” Karen replied, “But I'll be glad when my brother's better, and we get to go home.”

“I know for a fact that you're going to have a nice Christmas, Karen,” the counterfeit Mysterion assured her, as Kenny had told him just that. “Things are going to get better now.”

“Did you really take out my dad, when he tried to kill Kenny?” Karen then asked, blindsiding Kyle. Of course he knew that Kenny had been in the role that night, so he decided to go with it.

“Yes, and I regret that I almost killed him. Your dad, that is. I wasn't planning to!”

“I wouldn't have cared if you had,” Karen shrugged, which blindsided Kyle again. _This little girl hates her dad that much?_

They talked it over for a bit, until the room got too cold, what with the window open. By the time he was done, Kyle was pretty such that he'd explained why Karen shouldn't be like that.

“And remember, I'll always be there,” Mysterion reminded her, “Even if you don't see me.”

And then he was gone.

“You know that's one of Craig's and Kenny's friends?” Tricia pointed out.

“Yeah, it's gotta be one of them, but it's not Kenny,” Karen sighed, “I always thought it was. But Kenny's out with a broken leg.”

“Or he's having someone fill in for him,” Tricia mused, “As cover?”

*

As Mysterion-Kyle pulled himself back up to the roof, something clanked in the yard below. Pulling the paintball gun, loaded with blacklight glow dye, and a fresh gas canister, he crept over for a better look. He knew that Craig had cameras on the garage, at Kenny's behest, but he didn't care if he was seen. Craig knew who Mysterion really was.

He waited.

Something scraped, and then something began to make a whooshing sound.

Someone was in the garage.

“And Cartman isn't home,” Mysterion nodded, remembering the tips on the security system that Craig had told him.

Mysterion jumped to the garage roof, looking down. There were tracks in the snow. Wide boot tracks. Boots for fat feet. “What a dumbass! Well, it's a two-foot up system, so cats and such don't set it off, so we'll see!” As he watched, a loose board on the leeward side of the garage began to move. Then the one next to it.

Someone was coming out.

Mysterion lit a firecracker and dropped it in front of the board. It exploded.

“MOTHER FUCKER!” A shrill voice that he recognized shouted, as the M80 made quite the loud bang. Then the alarm went off.

Lights came on, a siren began to blare, but Mysterion simply sat, waiting. He aimed the paintball gun. “You stood up, didn't you, Fatass?” He chortled, as the house lights came on and Thomas Tucker emerged in his boots and boxers carrying a shotgun.

“Mr Tucker! It's Mysterion! Don't shoot!”

“Oh, it's you!” Mr Tucker gasped.

“Someone's in the garage, sir! I'll get him! I know who it is!”

Thomas lowered the gun and nodded. In a moment, the side door opened as the alarm continued to blare.

Mysterion opened fire, dousing Eric Cartman in paint.

“Drop the knife!” Mysterion ordered him, as he already knew what he'd find inside.

He knew that Red Racer's tires had been cut.

Cartman froze, dropped the knife when he saw Thomas aiming the gun at him, and then pissed his pants and wailed.

Mysterion dropped to the ground in front of him, his fall cushioned by the piles of shoveled snow.

“How stupid can you be?” He growled, grabbing Cartman's phone from his pocket. He went to the gallery and sent everything to Stan and Kyle, quickly getting it onto Craig's WIFI.

“Gimme back my phone, Kinny!” Cartman wailed.

“Kenny McCormick has a broken leg,” Mysterion told him in a gravely voice.

“So you're filling in, Craig? Think you're kewl, do you?”

“I know I am,” Mysterion lied. “Thanks for the backup, Dad!”

“Uhm, OK?” Thomas played along, knowing full well that his son was in bed. It was the first thing he'd checked.

“I think you'll find all the tires cut on Craig's car,” Mysterion added, “We knew this would happen!”

“I hope your mom has a lot of money!” Thomas grinned, “We needed new tires, anyway!”

“Trespassing, breaking and entering, vandalism, assault,” Mysterion ticked off the charges, “Stalking, more trespassing? You think it's funny, what you did to Stan and Kyle, invading their privacy like that?”

“Well, the fags shouldn't have been making out on the front lawn!” Cartman protested, as a police car pulled up. “Oh, fuck!”

“Well, what _have_ we here?” Detective Yates wondered.

“Looks like about five years in Juvenile Hall to me,” Mysterion growled, as he pointed to the knife in the snow. Sure enough, once Thomas had opened up the garage, they found all the tires on the Corvette cut.

“Book him,” Yates snorted. “Thanks again, Mysteriooooon,” he drawled. “How did you know?”

“Eric Cartman has always been hateful and jealous of Craig Tucker,” Mysterion explained, “The car was the last straw. I think you'll find,” he handed Yates the phone, “That Cartman has also been using sock-puppet accounts on Facebook, and stalking Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski.”

“You'll want to press charges?” Yates asked Thomas, as Cartman was 'cuffed and stuffed'.

“I'll get you for this, Craig!” Cartman screamed at him.

“Intimidation?” Mysterion wondered.

“Craig's up in bed,” Thomas smiled, and Cartman's jaw dropped.

“Sounds like it,” Yates nodded, as another officer photographed the damage.

“What else did you do the car?” Mysterion demanded.

“NOTHING!” Cartman tried to lie about it, “I chased the other guy out! It was a black guy! Probably Token! You know how he is, all that black rage!”

“Token is in Switzerland,” Mysterion countered, “You should have read his status update, Dumbass!”

“And where are this black guy's tracks in the snow?” Yates grinned.

“I'll file a report if I find any other damages,” Thomas told Yates, “Thank you!”

“I'd say with this kid's priors, he's going up the river for a lonnnnng time!” Yates smiled.

They then turned to look, but Mysterion was gone.

From the upstairs window, Craig looked down at the scene. Tweek was still sleeping.

“Just like Kenny said – Cartman cut my tires!” Craig gasped.

**-*o* -Future Tense- *o*-**

“I want to know how you got here, in this dream dimension, and why you went shopping for pastries a thousand years into the past!” Kenny demanded of Korx, as the two of them stood facing one another in the cemetery once again.

“How I get here should be pretty obvious,” Korx replied, nonplussed. “You can do it, I can do it, and now Kyle can do it.”

“Kyle isn't here!”

“Yet,” Korx shrugged, “Give him time. He's just got home, from your perspective.”

“Home from where?” Kenny asked.

Korx pointed at the tombstone in the plot that was two over from the weeping boy angel statue. The name shifted from ERIC CARTMAN to TRENT BOYETTE, and then to GEORGE “FIRKLE” SMITH. The dates also changed.

“You didn't want Trent to die, did you?” Korx asked.

“I didn't want Firkle to die, either!” Kenny exclaimed. “You did this!”

“Unexpected time ripples,” Korx shurgged, “The kid was a head-case, anyhow.”

“He was Ike Broflovski's _boyfriend_!” Kenny countered, “So what happens to Ike now?”

“That's all up to Kyle, isn't it?” Korx replied. “In fact, Kyle's making a bigger mess of the future than you ever did!”

“How?” Kenny gasped.

“He just got home, from your perspective, from being Mysterion – covering for you and your broken leg,” Korx informed him. “I was watching. It was quite the show. He's almost as good as you are.”

“You broke your own rules!” Kenny accused him.

“I was bored,” Korx shrugged.

“I want this fixed!” Kenny pointed at the angel.

“So, fix it?” Korx shrugged again, as Kyle appeared behind him.

“You think this is funny?” Kyle demanded.

“What did you do, Kyle?” Kenny asked, as the scene shifted to the deserted stretch of highway again.

“I just busted Cartman cutting Craig's tires,” Kyle answered, “In my time, Cartman's headed for juvie again. Maybe for a long time.”

“Trent's tombstone is gone, which explains Teddy,” Kenny informed him, “It seems that Korx coming back for donuts killed Firkle.”

“You'll probably remember all that, when you both wake up,” Korx told them, inspecting the skid marks yet again. “You still don't get it, do you?”

“I get that you're a time-traveling psychopath!” Kenny snarled at him, as the wind picked up once again. He ignored it.

“Is this all just a game to you?” Kyle asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know what went wrong, Korx! And I think you're subtly trying to do something about it!”

“No, that's Kenny's job,” Korx disagreed, “But you were all close with the Poga Paradox idea. What you've got is a Closed Causality Loop, actually. And you're not doing a very good job of breaking it. Tweek Tweak is still dead, I see?”

“So is Georgie Smith!” Kyle snapped.

“He wasn't before, but then again, neither was Teddy, Timmy, Clyde, Craig, Butters, or Stan,” Korx reminded them. “You've almost solved it, guys,” Korx went on, “So what's one eight year old compared to one or more of your friends?”

“Unacceptable!” Kenny snapped.

“You know,” Kyle mused, “I know I'm really in bed, back home. And I know that my body exists there. I know that this, though, is ME. The real me – the consciousness that IS Kyle Broflovski. I know that I just put Cartman away for a while, and that that's going to change the future. And frankly, I don't give a fuck!” He then looked hard at Kenny. “I don't know how the hell you do it, Kenny, but I'm sick of this shit already!” He then turned to Korx, glaring at him. “You gave Tweek a meteor fragment. Why?”

“For Craig, for Christmas,” Korx shrugged, “And to pay for my donuts!”

“Bull shit!” Kyle countered, “Stan found a blue crystal mounted under Timmy's wheelchair, the one Kenny is borrowing. That's the same kind of blue crystal I saw on the fragment, when I pulled the image from Tweek's mind!”

“Very good!” Korx smiled, “You're getting better!”

“One in every thousand years,” Kyle crossed his arms, looking smug. “Just like you, huh?”

“Very good, again!” Korx clapped slowly. “Everything, and nothing?”

“Just sliding around that old string of your life, right?” Kyle asked, “See, I know what String Theory is, Korx. I watch TV. You were in our time for a while, so your string loops into it. That, and you've got more advanced tech than we do. I also know that the meteor is composed of some kind of blue cobalt.”

“What the fuck is that?” Kenny wondered, “I always sucked at geology!”

“A rare element that usually can't exist on earth, due to a short half-life,” Kyle explained, “It's more common in space, since there's no oxygen. It also gives off a unique signature, some radiation, and it doesn't play well with chronoton particles, does it?”

Korx laughed. “You've watched too much _**Star Trek**_! Chronoton particles? Really?”

“Pretty smart for a twelve year old, huh?” Kenny smirked, as he realized what Kyle was doing. It was ironic that Korx hadn't realized it.

Yet.

“What's a Melting Clock, Korx?” Kyle then asked. “You can tell me now, or I'll just ask Kevin Stoley tomorrow, when I wake up!”

“Y-you're in my head!” Korx then gasped, putting up his hands as Kyle took a step towards him.

“What does a Melting Clock instance do, Korx?” Kyle persisted, his brow furrowed and his face hard. Overhead, the stars began to race by. Cars on the highway became red and white streaks with breaks in them. “And why give Tweek that meteor? What's cobalt-54 good for, Korx?”

A bright streak then began to light up the sky, and the stars seemed to multiply. Soon, the sky was filled with a miasma of infinitely colored points of light. Korx pointed to the side of the road, past the 285 sign, where a streak of hot plasma was headed for as it fell from the sky.

“Craig has blue eyes. It made me think of cobalt,” Kyle explained, “And I didn't even know what that was, until now! Then Stan found a blue cobalt crystal mounted on Timmy's time-warping wheelchair! You brought back a fragment of _that_ rock to Tweek!” Kyle pointed, as the meteor hit and blew a crater in the ground. The debris passed through them all, as if it weren't even real.

“Get outta my head!” Korx demanded.

“NO!” Kyle snapped, “I swear to God, Korx, I'll brain-rape you until I find out!”

“Where'd those nerds next door find this cobalt, then? When they sent Timmy back in time that once?” Kenny asked.

“ _They_ didn't,” Kyle gritted his teeth, as Korx stumbled and fell over backwards. “They never broke the time barrier! HE DID!” Kyle pointed at Korx.

“A Melting Clock means that time slows to a gradual stop, in the presence of a temporal rift!” Korx then cried, “Please, Kyle, you're hurting me!”

“ _That's_ the Melting Clock?”

“YES!”

Kyle let off.

“Time is oscillating,” Korx gasped, “You didn't do that. WE did! I'm trying to fix it.”

“Why a kid?” Kenny asked.

“Because I'd been here, and if I got caught, who'd believe me? And besides, I had friends here, if something went wrong. This is where it started!” Korx panted.

“What's oscillating mean?” Kenny pressed him, putting his hand on Kyle's shoulder, which seemed to settle him down.

“The Oscillation Theory is an extension of the Grandfather Paradox, time somehow “loops” between two inherently different realities. Reality “reverts” from a possibly unstable timeline, for instance: the fact that your grandfather was killed by you, who then does not exist to go back and kill him in the first place. The instability causes an 'oscillation' between the two or more timelines,” Korx explained. “We fucked up, OK? What else do you want from me? We made a mistake coming here, and then you all wiped a shitload of us out of existence!” Korx held up his wrist.

“The Stoley Discriminator?” Kenny recalled.

“Which protects Korx,” Kyle sneered, lunging forward, but Kenny grabbed him, “But not the rest of us!”

“Factor in Eric Cartman, and what he did, and it's an even bigger mess!” Korx added, “He was CEO of his own time travel company, until he went back and fucked that up, too! Rather, his younger self did.”

“Oscillation. Ripples,” Kenny thought aloud, “If a rock is tossed into a pond, making ripples, there has to be a focal point!”

The wind howled. The song it seemed that it always seemed to sing, almost human, then changed to a muffled scream. The sky took fire with glowing points of light, all the blackness of space gone. Kenny looked at his hand, as he pulled it from Kyle's shoulder.

That single point of light he'd been given by Other Kenny still blazed there.

“This is it, isn't it? We're standing on the focal point, aren't we?” Kyle asked.

Korx didn't make a sound. He didn't move. He simply stared up at Kyle in fear.

Then he vanished.

“Either he woke up, or you wiped him out?” Kenny mused.

“It's Tweek,” Kyle then said, his voice wavering, becoming hardly audible over the sound of that scream on the wind.

He turned to Kenny, taking both of his hands.

“Tweek is the focal point!”

And as Kyle Broflovski said those words, back in their own present, five boys woke up screaming.

 


	18. Immortals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up screaming proves to be too much for a couple of the boys, and Kyle takes matters into his own hands when disaster strikes. This impromptu 'repair' creates a few problems, though - one of them being that Butters doesn't remember what's going on when the Timeline resets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intense themes, sensitive topics.  
> The boys discuss Kenny being nearly eighteen, mentally, in the physical body of a twelve year old.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 18  
Immortals**

*****

“Kyle? What's wrong?” Sheila Broflovski exclaimed, as she shook her screaming son. Downstairs, Gerald was doing the same with Kenny McCormick as a terrified Butters Stotch looked on.

At #1200 down the way, Laura and Thomas Tucker were doing the same for their son, Craig, and his boyfriend, Tweek Tweak.

At the jail in South Park, no one was there to comfort Eric Cartman, who also awoke screaming from a nightmare. He couldn't recall very many details, but one was very clear in his mind: “KYLE!” He sneered, hugging himself tightly, as if making sure that he was really real and all there. He then picked at the orange jumpsuit, the fabric rough and itchy. “This is all _your_ fault, Kahl!” He muttered to himself, getting a hold of himself and realizing that it had all been a bad dream. “You and Craig,” Cartman nodded, rubbing his hands together as if plotting. “Fucking Craig, _and_ that fucking car!” Cartman then laughed. He continued laughing and rubbing his hands as he got up and began to pace his jail cell. “You want new friends, Kahl? Oh, you can _have_ your new friends!” Cartman's laughter grew, until he was borderline hysterical.

Back at the Tucker house, Craig was the first to snap out of it. It wasn't often that he had bad dreams, but when he did, he was always able to convince himself that they had only been just that – dreams. And Craig Tucker knew that dreams couldn't hurt him. Tweek, on the other hand, was a mess. He was tangled up in the blankets, and he was nearly hysterical as he continued to scream. As Craig untangled him, Thomas moved to hold Tweek down so that he didn't hurt himself.

He kept screaming Craig's name again and again, his voice already failing him.

“I'm right here, Tweek!” Craig kept telling him, but it seemed as if Tweek couldn't hear him. “Mom?” Craig then turned to Laura with a look on his face that Laura Tucker had never seen before. Craig's eyes were wide, and there were tears on his face. “Mom, call 911 NOW!”

“God, I can feel his heart hammering!” Thomas said, “This kid's a lot stronger than he looks, son! _**Do**_ something!”

Craig put his hands on Tweek's cheeks, which were red and hot, as with a high fever. He turned Tweek to face him, and Tweek inhaled sharply. He stopped screaming, but he was still hyperventilating. Craig reached over the side of the bed, saw that Stripe was hiding under it, and yelled for someone to close the door before Stripe could escape. Tricia came and did that, as she and Karen looked on. Pulling a paper sack of candy from under the bed, Craig dumped it out and held the bag over Tweek's face.

“Just breathe, Babe,” Craig told him, “Breathe slower, until you feel better, OK?”

Tweek managed a nod as his eyes cleared.

“I'm going to let go of you now, OK?” Thomas asked Tweek, and as he did that, Craig saw that his father's hands were shaking. There were tears in his eyes as well, and Craig didn't ever remember seeing his father like that before. As Thomas released him, Tweek sat up and grabbed Craig. He hid his face in Craig's shoulder, sobbing.

“You're here!” Tweek rasped, his voice hardly audible from all the screaming. Of all the meltdowns that Tweek had ever had, this one was the worst that Craig had ever seen. He just sat there, stroking Tweek's hair and holding him, assuring him that it was just a bad dream. Still, Craig could feel Tweek's heart hammering.

Tweek, however, kept shaking his head and mumbling, “No!” over and over again. Craig held him until the paramedics arrived.

“We've contacted his parents and Dr. Norris,” one of the paramedics said, “They'll meet us at the hospital. Can the boy walk?”

“I'm going,” Craig stated flatly, “I can get him downstairs, OK?” He turned his attention to Tweek. “C'mon, Babe. You need to go to the hospital. I'm coming too, it'll be OK.”

Tweek managed a muffled “mmm-hmm” into Craig's shoulder, but that was it. He didn't seem capable of any other movement.

“It's all right,” Thomas told them, as he carefully picked up the boys. Given his size, it wasn't hard to do. “I'm going to carry you down, OK?”

Tweek just made a small wailing sound. “I got him, Dad,” Craig assured his father. “Thanks.”

“I've got you,” Thomas replied.

Outside, neighbors had come out to see what the commotion was. Craig didn't care that they all saw him and Tweek like that, or that they were seeing them loaded into an ambulance. All he cared about was getting Tweek calmed down as Thomas climbed in with them.

“It's never been this bad,” Craig told the paramedics, as they took Tweek's vitals.

“Page Dr. Norris again,” the other paramedic was saying over the radio, “Patient Tweek Tweak is hysterical, vitals wildly elevated.”

“He's not hysterical _now_! Don't do that!” Craig snapped, as the other paramedic made to inject Tweek with something.

“We have to sedate him,” the paramedic replied, “And if you interfere, we'll sedate you, too!”

“Try it!” Craig threatened him, punching him square in the balls. The man doubled over, dropping his hypodermic. “If anyone is going to do that, it's me!” Craig flipped him off.

Craig then gently moved Tweek's head back and kissed him. He locked his mouth over Tweek's, and kept it there, his hands rubbing Tweek's back. Tweek's shaking lessened, and his face relaxed.

“C-Craig?” Tweek rasped.

“Don't try to talk, Babe,” Craig told him, “You had a nightmare. So did I. Yours was worse, I think. I'm right here, Tweek. I won't let them hurt you.”

“Hurts, bad,” Tweek whispered, as his head lolled. He was still panting, but not as rapidly. The paramedic managed to right himself, glaring at Craig, and checked Tweek's vitals again. He put an oxygen mask over Tweek's face, and adjusted the mix.

“Whatever you did worked, Loverboy,” the paramedic commented, as he made to secure the boys with straps. “Insurance rules, OK?”

Craig allowed it, although he never let go of Tweek's hand. Tweek wasn't responding, though.

“Pulse is thready and rapid,” the man reported to the driver, “Tell them to have a cardiac team standing by!”

“Whadda ya mean?” Craig gasped, as the monitor they'd attached to Tweek began to fluctuate.

“He's having a heart attack,” the paramedic told them. “Geez, how _old_ is he?”

“Twelve,” Thomas replied.

“Any meds, sir?”

“Ativan,” Thomas nodded, “And he's probably in caffeine withdrawal.”

“He's also kicked a meth addiction,” Craig supplied, “Just very tiny, but daily doses.”

“Oh, God,” the paramedic sighed, as he continued to monitor Tweek's vitals. “I have to give him something, OK? Don't hit me again!”

“Dude, I'm strapped down!” Craig reminded him, as the man tended to Tweek. “Just take care of him, OK?”

And all that Craig could do was lay there, stare, and hold Tweek's hand. They'd joked about it for years, that Tweek was going to have a heart attack someday, if he didn't calm down. _And I can't just revive him,_ Craig thought, his mind racing, _This isn't a game! This is real! Tweek's having a heart attack!_

“Which one is it?” An ER doctor asked, as they finally arrived at the hospital.

“The spaceman,” the paramedic replied, “The blond!” he added, as the boys were transferred and the monitors hooked back up.

Craig knew what he'd hear before the monitors ever reported. Tweek had stopped moving.

“V-fib!” A nurse yelled, as the monitor went wild.

“He's going into cardiac arrest!” Someone else shouted, as the straps were undone and Thomas pulled his son out of the way.

“Tweek?” Craig cried, as Thomas carried him out. Craig reached out over his father's shoulder, but that was all he could do as the ER doors closed.

“Thomas, what's going on?” Richard Tweak asked, as he and Helen met them in the corridor. “The police called, and said that Tweek had -”

“HE'S HAVING A FUCKING HEART ATTACK, YOU STUPID BASTARD!” Craig screamed, as Thomas held the boy back. Craig was flailing about, his eyes wild, as he struggled to get loose and get to Tweek's father. “All that meth and caffeine! What the fuck is WRONG with you people?! I swear to God, I'll KILL YOU!”

“Not today,” Dr Norris commented, as he walked up, yanked Craig's pajama trousers down, and jabbed Craig in the butt with a needle.

“God dammit! You son of a biiiii...” Craig's voice trailed off, and his head lolled. He passed out in his father's arms.

“I think it might be a good idea to hold Craig for observation?” Dr Norris mused.

“I think you might be right!” Thomas agreed, as his cheek was beginning to swell. “Boy's got a hell of a left hook, though?” He grinned. He then turned to the Tweaks. “Look, Rich, I'm sorry,” Thomas offered, handing his unconscious son off to a pair of nurses, “I don't know what got into him.”

“He loves him,” Richard threw up his hands. “And he's right – this is all my fault.”

Helen said nothing as she watched the nurses rolling Craig away.

“Hang on, what's this about meth?” Dr. Norris wondered.

“Hey, I wanna know what you're gonna do with Craig, first?” Thomas asked.

“He'll sleep until later this afternoon, probably four or five o'clock. When he wakes up, he'll still be restrained. If he's lucid, and can behave, we'll free him. If he has another outburst like that, or he's a threat to himself or anyone else, we'll admit him and keep him restrained. This is fairly serious, Mister Tucker. He attacked an EMT, threatened me, and tried to attack Mister Tweak! Not to mention what he did to you, and you're fairly large?”

“My son isn't crazy!” Thomas retorted, rubbing his jaw. “He woke up screaming too, you know! Something happened to the both of them just now!”

In the ER, the attending physician was charging the defibrillator.

“Oh, God, my baby!” Helen began crying, her hands against the corridor windows of the ER, as an orderly came and closed the blinds.

_**-*o* -meanwhile- *o*-** _

“KYLE!” Sheila gave her son a shake, then softly slapped his face at about the third scream.

Kyle's eyes cleared. “Ma?”

“What in God's name was that all about?” Sheila gasped, her voice echoing in Kyle's ears, as if she were far away, perhaps on a hill, and shouting down into a deep valley.

Kyle extricated himself from his mother and stood up.

“Nightmare,” Kyle whispered, his voice sounding oddly choral.

Sheila then made a small sound of surprise and pulled back, as she looked into her son's eyes. It wasn't often that it happened, but what Sheila saw there frightened her.

Kyle's eyes were filled with swirling patterns of light, the irises and pupils consumed by it. He turned to face his mother.

“Thanks, Ma, it's OK now,” Kyle's choral voice harmonized impossibly, “I know what to do.”

Sheila screamed, and then fainted.

“Kyle, what the fuck?” Ike exclaimed, as Kyle toddled out into the hall, not exactly sure where he was. Ike took a step back. “I love the hoodie, Bro!” Ike yelped, ducking back into his room and locking the door!

Kyle continued down the stairs, following the sounds of more screaming. He met Butters, hopping on one leg, at the foot of the stairs.

“Kyle! Kenny's having a fit of some kind!” Butters exclaimed.

“I know,” Kyle patted his shoulder.

“Uhm, Kyle?” Butters asked, as if this were just a normal thing, “Your eyes are like, on fire?”

“I know,” Kyle repeated, as he made his way to the guest room. “It'll be OK, Butters.”

“Oh, well, if you say so, I guess?” Butters nodded, following him into the guest room.

Kenny seemed to have settled down, and Kyle realized that whatever had happened – a dream, nightmare, or something more – was nothing out of the ordinary for Kenny. Gerald was holding the boy, who was holding his side and trying to breathe lightly. As Kyle walked in, he said nothing. Still, Kenny looked up at him, and their eyes met.

 _Kenny has blue eyes,_ Kyle noted, _I'd never noticed before. Craig has blue eyes, too. The crystal was blue,_ Kyle glanced at the wheelchair. _Yellow is the opposite of blue. Tweek has yellow hair, like Kenny's, and a blue crystal meteor fragment._

“Kyle! What the hell?” Gerald gasped, “Are you OK?”

“Fine, Dad,” Kyle said, and Gerald slowly stood up and took a step back at the sound of that voice.

“Kyle?” Kenny asked, “What are you doing?”

“The ripples are lapping at the shore, Kenny,” Kyle's voice filled the room. “What was, isn't. What isn't, might be.”

“Kyle, be careful!” Kenny advised, recognizing that light shining in his friend's eyes. When Kyle didn't immediately reply, Kenny added, “Kyle, what are you seeing? Don't do anything that -”

“Tweek is still screaming,” Kyle replied, looking around the guest room, but seeming not to see it. “He can't stop screaming!”

“How do you know that?” Butters asked, peeking in the door.

“I am there!” Kyle raised his hands, then held them out, palms up.

“You're right here, Kyle, OK?” Butters offered.

“I am everywhere – and nowhere,” Kyle replied calmly.

“Oh, shit,” Kenny groaned, “Kyle, don't go running amok with this! You don't know what you're doing!”

Gerald had sat down on the floor, scuttling backwards, up against the wall. He stared at his son, unsure what to make of it all.

“This wasn't how it happened, before,” Kyle mused, looking around as if watching things that no one else could see. “Of all the Tweeks in all the Timelines, in all that was, wasn't, or could be, _this_ didn't happen.”

“Kyle, stop!” Kenny warned him.

“Oh, hamburgers! He's doing it again, Kenny!” Butters gasped, as bits and pieces of Kyle began to disappear and reappear, making him seem to be sparkling.

“Kyle, listen to me,” Kenny said, “Don't try and do anything! You don't know what you're doing!”

“What is Kyle doing, just standing there?” Gerald asked, getting up as if nothing were wrong.

“Boys, what would you like for breakfast?” Sheila was calling. “Ike! Ike, it's time to get up!”

“Coming, Ma!” Ike shouted down the stairs, “I want latkes with ketchup!”

“Coming, Dear!” Gerald replied, as he left the room.

“Kyle, stop it right now!” Kenny ordered him. “What you're doing is wrong! Your family isn't a puppet show!”

“I don't think they'd understand, Kenny,” Kyle replied softly, “It's an overload, is all it is.”

“What is?” Butters asked, totally nonplussed by it all.

“Tweek's going to have a heart attack,” Kyle nodded, “We can't let that happen!”

“'We'? Who is 'we'?” Kenny wondered.

“ _We_ are,” Kyle nodded, as he reached out to touch something that wasn't there. “We were, we are, and we have yet to be. Yet in the _**to be**_ , we _are_. We are Kyle. We are every Kyle Broflovski that ever was, is, and is yet to be. We are every point on the string, that is Kyle Broflovski's existence.”

 _Oh shit,_ Kenny thought, _this is probably how I felt, when I ended up in that void-thing! And that doesn't sound like Kyle_!

“Tweek crossed the breach,” Kyle went on, “It's just an overload,” he repeated, “Tweek can't deal with what he saw. If he didn't see it, he won't have to deal with it. Then he won't die.” Kyle looked around the room again. “Tweek is going to die.”

“We know that, Kyle,” Kenny reminded him.

“Today,” Kyle nodded firmly, as little specks began to sparkle all over him again. Those specks grew in size, and then became transparent as Kyle began to phase again. Kenny thought that he looked like a bad 1960's _**Star Trek**_ special effect.

“KYLE!” Kenny snapped, struggling to get up, and finding that he couldn't. Butters hopped over to him, and the two of them held onto one another as Kyle slowly dissolved, bit by bit, like a slowly degrading digital image.

 _Relax_ , Kyle thought, or was he saying it? Kyle wasn't sure. Kenny was talking to him, but Kenny wasn't in the room.

Craig was.

So was Tweek.

And Stripe.

The two boys were sleeping, a guinea pig curled up in Tweek's hair.  
They were dreaming.  
 _What does Craig Tucker dream about?_ Kyle had to wonder.

“Craig, it's time to get up,” Nurse Gollum was saying, “Do you know who I am, Craig?”  
“Tweek?” Craig struggled to get the word out.  
“You want me to leave you alone, for a little bit, Craig?” Clyde was asking, his voice so deep.  
The sun was shining brightly upon a white statue on a clear spring day.  
The day was clear, and yet Kyle heard thunder.  
Every Kyle that ever was, or would ever be, heard thunder.  
“JESUS CHRIST!” Clyde was screaming.  
Blood splattered Clyde's white truck.

But Clyde wasn't screaming.  
Clyde wasn't even there.

Craig sat in a hospital bed, in a private room.  
His parents were holding him.  
Craig was sobbing.

But Craig Tucker didn't cry.

“No, this isn't it,” Kyle said, turning his head away and looking for...something. “Kyle?” Kyle asked.

“Over here! I'm here!” Kyle answered, and Kyle went to him.

Again, two boys were asleep in the bed. Glow-in-the-dark space objects shone down upon them from the ceiling. A pang rippled through Kyle as he took an infinitesimal moment to study the sleeping boys and guinea pig. One boy slept with a smiling face. The other, though asleep, looked worried with his creased brow and quivering lip. It was not at all what Kyle had expected. In fact, it was just the reverse.

 _What does Tweek Tweak dream about?_ Kyle had to wonder. _Let's not find out_!

“Kyle?” Tweek asked, as the two of them were walking down the highway at night. “Where did you come from?”

“Your mind,” Kyle replied, “Dreams are like that.”

“Oh!” Tweek gasped, “Well, I guess so?” Tweek looked around. “I usually dream about sitting by a lake, in the summer. There's flowers, sun, and guinea pigs. Lots of guinea pigs, and birds, and the lake is coffee, not water. But there's still fish in it!”

_Well, you wanted to know what Tweek dreamed about..._

“God dammit, Kyle, go get your own boyfriend!” Craig Tucker then cut in, as he came up behind them. “Say, I've had this dream before? How'd I get here? I was just talking to Nurse Gollum? Is she still around, even?”

“This is Route 285,” Kyle reminded him, “You dream about it all the time, Craig. You just don't remember it most of the time.”

“I don't?” Craig scoffed, taking Tweek's hand. Tweek reached up and patted Craig's yellow poofball hat with is other hand.

“Craig, why are we walking on a highway in our pajamas?” Tweek asked.

“I dunno, Babe. Let's ask Kyle,” Craig shrugged. “Why are we dreaming about Kyle?”

“Why don't you two go back that way?” Kyle pointed to where a pristine red Corvette sat idling at the shoulder. “There's nothing up there for you to see,” he pointed back the other way, where a green information sign read DENVER.

“Craig, I think we spend too much time working on your car,” Tweek chuckled. “Now we're dreaming about it!”

“C'mon, Babe,” Craig then nodded, “If we're having a nice dream, let's not waste it.” He looked back at Kyle. “Is Kenny here somewhere?”

“He'll be along,” Kyle smiled. “And Korx. We have things to talk about.”

“I remember him! He's the bald kid from the future!” Tweek smiled, “I liked him! He came to see us the other day!”

“Hey, Craig,” Kenny greeted them, as he materialized out of thin air. Dreams were like that, after all.

“Let's call Clyde and them, and get together at my shoppe!” Tweek suggested.

“We're going back in town,” Craig agreed, “You guys coming?”

“It's a two-seater, but thanks, we'll be fine,” Kyle reminded them, as Craig and Tweek got into the car. Craig waved, and then peeled out, leaving black marks on the pavement.

“You think that'll help?” Korx then asked, as he appeared alongside Kenny.

“I'm pretty sure of it, Korx,” Kyle glared at him, “Now tell me, what is a Melting Clock Paradox, and how can I create one?” Kyle demanded, his voice echoing in impossible harmony.

_**-*o* -rewind- *o*-** _

“What the _hell_ did you just do?” Kenny snapped, as the room seemed to jump sideways. Beside him, Butters was still asleep. Kyle stood at the foot of the bed, his hands raised, staring at the ceiling. Kenny smelled breakfast cooking, and heard Sheila humming a little tune.

“Tweek was having a heart attack,” Kyle smiled, turning to Kenny.

“ _What_?!” Kenny gasped, as Butters began to stir.

“Tweek had a heart attack. They took him to the hospital, and he died,” Kyle stated plainly, looking all around the room, as the fires in his eyes went out. In their place, Kyle's pupils and irises separated back to normalcy. “I prevented it. If I hadn't, Craig would have gone mad with grief.”

“God _dammit,_ Kyle!” Kenny snarled, “What did I just say, when you walked in? You don't know what you're doing! And after what you just did to Korx?”

“So?” Kyle shrugged, and Kenny felt a chill. “It's just a dream, isn't it? I changed Tweek's dream, so he wouldn't wake up scared and screaming. Now he'll just wake up, cuddle with Craig for a little bit, kiss him, and then -”

“STOP!” Kenny held up his hands, but he looked bemused by the look on Kyle's face.

“Wh-wha's goin' on, Ken?” Butters mumbled, getting his good eye open, and snuggling up closer to Kenny. Kenny kissed his forehead.

“Kyle just came to wake us up, Leo,” Kenny assured him.

“Oh, OK, five more minutes,” Butters sighed, as he went back to sleep.

Kenny glared at Kyle. “I don't know how you did it, Kyle, but _don't_ fucking do it again! What the hell? You slid _back_ into the dream we just had, or whatever the fuck it is? You went and changed it? Tweek wasn't even _there_!”

“He _was_ there,” Kyle nodded, “He was walking down the road, while we were in the cemetery.”

“I remember,” Kenny nodded, “Wait! I had _two_ dreams!” Kenny's eyes then went wide as he met Kyle's gaze.

Kyle's eyes were a hazel mix of brown tones, gold flecks, and green smears.

“Yeah, I...I kind of, k-kind of -” Kyle stammered, wobbling a bit, then sitting down hard on the end of the bed, right on Butters' good foot.

“I'm not lookin' at porn!” Butters squeaked in alarm, as he sat bolt upright. Then he looked around and blushed. Kenny smiled at him and rubbed his head. “Oh! Kyle, you don't look so good?” Butters added.

“I did something bad, didn't I?” Kyle asked Kenny, suddenly looking very confused.

Kenny just shrugged. “I don't know, Kyle. _Did_ you?”

“I...I'm not s-sure?” Kyle stammered, “Did I... phase out again?”

“You did a _lot_ more than that,” Kenny rolled his eyes.

_**-*o* -meanwhile- *o*-** _

Craig Tucker woke up first, just as he always did. And just as he always did when Tweek shared his bed, he kept very still so that he could watch Tweek sleeping. That morning, fragments of the dream he'd awakened from were still fresh in his mind: Red Racer, Route 285, the green DENVER sign, and Kyle. He thought that Kyle might have been hitchhiking, as he moved to pull Tweek closer. Tweek made a very small sound, but didn't wake up as Craig kissed the tip of his nose. He could just feel Tweek's heart beating, slowly and regularly. Stripe had made a nest of Tweek's thick, long hair, and Craig stifled a laugh for fear of waking Tweek.

 _I thought I was here, and Nurse Gollum was getting me up? Why would she be coming here to get me up? And what was I doing, driving Red Racer at night, in my pajamas? And why were Kyle and Kenny out hitchhiking? You can't put four people in a Corvette? Hell, I can't even drive yet! Dreams are so stupid,_ Craig decided, as he just lay there, watching Tweek sleep. Dreams _were_ stupid, Craig thought, but _this_ was something real. He hated that they were covertly giving Tweek tranquilizers, but dammit anyway, Tweek so badly needed the rest. They always joked about him having a heart attack by the time he was a teenager, but secretly, that was one of Craig's worst fears. More and more, Craig realized, he was having trouble keeping that emotion in check.

And Kenny's dreams, visions, predictions, or whatever the fuck they were, weren't helping at all.

 _He doesn't know, he can't know! You've never told anyone how scared you are_! Craig thought, as he felt Tweek tighten his grip.

Tweek moaned softly, then twitched. “Craig,” he whispered, which wasn't unusual. Rather, it hadn't been before the tranquilizers. Tweek had talked in his sleep quite a bit, mostly gibberish, and mostly about work, the Gnomes, or some detail from some crazy adventure he'd once had with Stan's Gang. “My hand, someone? Just hold my hand,” Tweek was whispering, the smile coming back to his face as Craig did just that.

Maybe they'd stay in bed just a little longer.

_**-*o* -meanwhile- *o*-** _

“What the _fuck_ do you mean, you're _not_ bailing me out, Mom?” Eric Cartman drawled the last word out, “What the _hell_ am I supposed to do? Sit in here until I get a court date?”

“That's _exactly_ what you're going to do, Eric!” Liane Cartman informed her son, as Detective Yates and some other officers looked on. “Do you have any idea how much it's going to cost me to replace those tires you cut on Craig's car?”

“Fuck Craig, _and_ fuck his car!” Eric retorted, “The rich bastards have probably got insurance, and just wanna screw us over!”

“No, Eric, _you_ screwed us over!” Liane snapped. “I have _had_ it, Eric, _do_ you hear me? I have HAD IT!”

“He _knew_ I was gonna do it,” Eric muttered to himself.

“What's that?” Yates asked. “ _Who_ knew? Did you have an accomplice?”

“No,” Eric answered, truthfully for once, simply because he knew that anyone he could try and implicate had a rock-solid alibi. Like a broken leg. _But Kyle's leg is fine, and Kenny is staying with him!_

“Given his past record, Ms. Cartman,” Yates was saying, “These are some pretty serious charges. Trespassing, breaking and entering, four counts of vandalism, five if you count the wall plank, resisting arrest -”

“I didn't _resist_ you, you asshole!” Eric snapped.

“No, I just wanted to see the look on your face,” Yates grinned, “As I recall, you stood there and pissed yourself?”

“So when can I get a court date?” Eric asked, not sounding the least bit cowed.

“Docket is full until after New Year,” Yates shrugged, “Merry friggin' Christmas, I guess?”

“WHAT?!” Eric gasped, as the enormity of it finally hit him: Eric Cartman was going to be spending Christmas in jail.

“Mother fucker,” He mumbled.

“Lord knows, I've tried,” Liane sighed, turning to go, “Maybe a little too hard? Perhaps you'll have better luck with him?”

“Well,” Yates replied, “Given that he's been in juvie twice before, and didn't seem to learn anything, I doubt it.” Yates opened the door for her. “But maybe a few years with his little buddy, that Boyette kid, will straighten him out?”

“TRENT BOYETTE?!” Eric gasped, his face going pale, “You're not putting me in with HIM!? You _can't_! He's a psycho!”

“He's also innocent,” Yates reminded Eric, “Or so your friends have told me? It seems that _you_ goaded him into starting that fire in nursery school that nearly killed your teacher?”

“ME!?” Eric squeaked, “What about those other three buttfuckers? Four, if you count Butters! It was Butters' idea!”

“Oh, settle down,” Yates waved him off, “Trent's on the docket for next week, so with any luck, _he'll_ be home for Christmas! You probably won't even run into him. Probably,” Yates concluded, as they exited and locked the door behind them.

Eric Cartman just stood there, gripping the bars and trembling. He wasn't crying, though. His face was hard, his eyes cold, and his gaze calculating. “I dunno how you're gonna talk your way outta this one, Kahl,” he breathed, “But you just wait! If you were worried about Trent Boyette getting out and coming after you again, you – just – wait!”

_**-*o* -meanwhile- *o*-** _

At breakfast, none of the members of Kyle's family seemed to have any recollection of Kyle waking up screaming. They didn't have any recollections of his glowing eyes or choral voice, either.

Then again, neither did Kyle. At least, not much of a memory.

As Butters and Kenny finished eating and excused themselves for the chore of getting dressed and ready for the day, Kyle just sighed and watched them go.

“We'll discuss it later,” Kenny muttered to Kyle.

“Kyle?” Ike asked, as he put his plate in the dishwasher, “It's...it's just that...” Ike fumbled.

“Go on, Ike?” Kyle encouraged him, “I really don't think things can get much worse.” _Not if I did what I think I just did!_

“I love the hoodie, Kyle,” Ike admitted, “I don't know where you found all that stuff, Bro, but I really love it.” Ike looked down at his slippers. “I dunno what you got me for the rest of Hanukkah, but this stuff must have cost a lot. And you, I mean, you and your friends came after me when they thought the President had got me,” Ike went on.

“It's OK, Ike,” Kyle nodded, feeling as if an enormous weight had fallen from his shoulders.

“No, it's not OK, Bro,” Ike shook his head, sniffling, “I've been a dick to you for the last year, Kyle! I thought it was your fault that Toronto got bombed! I even told you stop being a victim, Kyle, and I haven't said hardly anything to you all year! I'm sorry,” Ike looked away, sniffling.

Kyle got up and went to him.

 _Kenny said this thing would get better,_ Kyle remembered, as he hugged his little brother, and Ike cried.

“It's hardly behaviour befitting a Canadian Knight,” Ike said, quite formally, when he'd recovered himself.

“Nobody's perfect,” Kyle assured him.

“Especially you!” Ike playfully punched his shoulder unexpectedly and grinned.

Kyle punched him back, and then everything was all right between them again.

“I know I can't bring back Toronto, Ike,” Kyle sighed, as they checked the dishwasher and started it, “All I can do is try and make it up to you by-”

“By not making a speech?” Ike giggled, as Kyle grabbed him by the ribs and began tickling him until Ike screamed.

“STOP!” Ike begged, “Stop before I call the President, and she comes and kicks your ass!”

“Wait, hold on?!” Kyle gasped, as he let go of Ike. “'She'?”

“Caitlyn Jenner,” Ike shrugged, “Who do you think took over, after Mister Garrison was impeached for nuking Toronto?”

“Oh, boy,” Kyle bit his lower lip, his eyes going wide. “KENNY!” He called.

“Whassa matter?” Ike wondered.

“Ike, I...I'm just a little overwhelmed right now,” Kyle replied, which wasn't a lie at all, considering that Kyle had no memory of Garrison being impeached, or of Jenner taking over The Oval Office.

“Yeah, me too,” Ike nodded. “I miss Georgie.”

“I know,” Kyle put his arm about Ike's shoulders again. “I know you liked him.”

“What?” Ike gasped, “Whadda'ya mean by _that_?”

“Well, he was your best friend, wasn't he?” Kyle asked, deciding to definitely not play the time travel card, or the gay card, as Kenny had told him about Ike's future.

“Yeah,” Ike sighed again. “They shouldn't let old people drive!”

“You know, Ike, you're about the age now that I was, when things started getting crazy in this town,” Kyle informed him.

“Makes you wanna stay in your room, doesn't it?” Ike laughed, as he headed upstairs. “Thanks, Bro.”

“No problem, Ike,” Kyle smiled, as he headed to the guest room.

He found Kenny sitting in his borrowed wheelchair, trying to get Butter's snap-on plastic brace on. Butters was sitting on the bed, humming a jaunty little tune.

“You two invalids wanna go help Stan today?” Kyle asked.

Kenny looked up at him with a hard face. “Not before we talk about what just happened, no!”

“Wh-what just happened?” Butters looked around nervously, “Oh, no! Did my GoodNights leak?” Butters checked the unmade bed, blushing deeply.

“It's OK, Butters, and no,” Kyle shrugged, “I'm not gonna tell.”

Butters sat down on the bed and hung his head. “Almost a teenager, and I still have to wear diapers,” he complained.

“It's a medical problem, and Cartman's probably the only one rude enough to rip on you for it,” Kyle reminded him.

“Speaking of?” Kenny cut in, “Did what I told you about Craig and his car have anything to do with why you were there last night?”

“No, I went to see Karen, like you told me to do,” Kyle reminded him. “Cartman breaking into the garage was just a bonus.”

“So how's Karen?” Kenny wondered.

“She's good, having fun with Tricia,” Kyle replied.

“Good. Anyway, Cartman never got caught for messing with Craig, until we were in high school,” Kenny said, “And you really don't wanna know how far he took that, at least, the first few times. Most of it, I dealt with – as Mysterion – but eventually, the cops caught up with him.”

“Oh, is this more of that time travel stuff?” Butters wondered, sounding as if he believed the whole thing.

“You see, Kyle? Those time ripples softened his brain! I don't think he remembers,” Kenny grinned, reaching over to poke Butters in the ribs. He then looked back at Kyle. “Seriously, though? It's bad enough that Korx is risking history by coming back for donuts, without you messing with stuff when you don't know what you're doing!”

“As if _you_ do?” Kyle retorted, “And I did it before?”

“No, you had a glimpse of one of your own possible futures,” Kenny corrected him, “You slid along your string, into your own future. A future which has changed now! What you did this morning changed that future, _and_ the past!”

“What was I supposed to do? Let Tweek have a heart attack and die?” Kyle demanded. “What would _that_ have done to the future?”

Butters went pale, and he said nothing at all.

“So how did _you_ know?” Kenny asked, “When _I_ didn't?”

“The dream, or whatever that place is,” Kyle answered, “When I woke up screaming, I was...I was...” Kyle thought about it for a moment. “I guess it just happened? I was phased out again. Like the very first time. I was...all over the place? It's hard to describe?”

“Images flashing by, and then some place full of nothing but points of colored light?” Kenny asked, “And feeling like you were there forever?”

“YES!” Kyle exclaimed, “That's it! And I heard Tweek screaming, and then Craig was,” Kyle paused. “Craig was...sobbing.”

“So you followed those sounds?” Kenny wondered.

“Yeah.”

“And what did you see?” Kenny asked pointedly.

“I don't,” Kyle hesitated, “I don't r-really wanna talk about that, Kenny.”

“But what you saw was what you think triggered it, then?” Kenny asked.

Kyle nodded again. “Kenny, when I touched Craig that first time, when he threw me out of Tweek's shoppe, I had a...a vision?” Kyle admitted, “No, it was more than that. I _was_ Craig, for a while.” He thought about how to describe it. “I phased out, I guess, and I relived a couple hours of Craig's life.” Kyle blushed.

“Oh, crap,” Kenny closed his eyes. “Does he know?”

“I don't think so,” Kyle shook his head. “He didn't seem to realize that anything had happened. He just thought I was getting sick again.”

“You know how he feels, about Tweek, then?” Kenny decided that he had to ask, figuring that such must have been what Kyle had seen. He reached for Butters' hand, and held it firmly. After all, Kenny had already lived through the cycle of seeing Creek (as people would begin to call the pair) evolve over the coming five years.

“I dunno what you guys are really talkin' about,” Butters offered, “But it sounds awful serious? And too far out to be made up?”

“Butters, the last time I did this, I didn't try and explain it to you until we were older,” Kenny told him, “But then again, I didn't go to Kyle for help, either. In fact, Kyle never realized that he could do this thing that he can do.”

“I'd forgot about it, really,” Kyle admitted.

“What's that?” Butters wondered, completely oblivious.

Kyle wasn't sure if he should try it again. He wasn't sure if he _could_ do it again. And he certainly wasn't sure if Butters would believe him. Then he remembered that he'd already done the same thing to Butters, who now didn't seem to remember it.

Kyle had lived through a beating that Butters' father had given him.

“Go ahead and tell him,” Kenny suggested, “As it seems he's forgotten it. Thanks to you, Kyle.”

Kyle concentrated on something that Butters could relate to, as far as fantasy versus reality. He took Butters' other hand. There was a flash of memory, then Kyle gasped and let go.

“Are my hands cold?” Butters wondered.

“You didn't feel anything?” Kenny asked.

“Just Kyle, and his hand's pretty warm,” Butters replied.

Kyle twitched, squirmed a bit as if he were creeped out, made a funny noise of disgust, then settled again.

“There's no stopping him when he comes,” Kyle tried to explain what he'd seen and felt, “When Chaos talks, you have to listen. It was...an obsession?” Kyle then asked, more than said, “An obsession with Mysterion, because Mysterion is the only one who can subdue him! You were so shocked to find out that Kenny was Mysterion, but Kenny _can't_ be Mysterion, because Kenny's dead. _I'm_ the fourth friend! They chose _me_ , not Tweek!” Kyle shook his head, realizing that he'd begun talking as if he were Butters. “Then we fired you, Butters, but then Kenny came back, and Tweek just left us? How did Kenny come back? And then when Kenny decided to become a princess, you -”

“STOP!” Butters gasped in surprise, “How the _hell_ do you know all that?”

“That's what he's trying to prove to you, Leo,” Kenny reassured him, “That Kyle has a special gift. He pulled those thoughts out of your mind, because part of him _became_ you for just a second.”

“I know that when Lou-Lou, your favorite hamster died,” Kyle went on, “No, she didn't die. Your dad killed her.” Kyle then began to look sick. “He swatted her off your bed, into the far wall!” Kyle gasped, seeing the broken little body on the floor that had once been Butters' beloved pet. “That sick bastard!”

“Oh my God!” Butters mumbled, and Kenny felt him squeeze his hand.

“I'm sorry,” Kyle offered. “See, when this … thing … I can do kicks in, I can literally _be_ someone else for a short time.” Kyle looked away. “So I know what you felt when Lou-Lou was killed. And I know what Craig felt, or how he _will_ feel, if anything happens to Tweek.”

“You've gotten hooked up with a real pair of weirdos, Leo,” Kenny told him, “Kyle's some sort of existential, mind-merging _being_ , and I can't seem to stay dead. The last time I died, I shot myself in the head, when I was seventeen. I was sitting in the wreckage of Craig's car, and for some reason, I thought that if I did it there, that it might end it all - permanently.”

“You killed yourself?!” Butters gasped, as he started to cry. “Oh my God! WHY would you _do_ that, Ken?!”

Kenny pulled him close. “All the other times, I did it to reset the day. If I die, the day starts over. I wake up in my own bed, just like nothing ever happened. And no one ever remembers. Everything that happened that day, erased.” Kenny paused. “Until Kyle remembered.”

“Kenny sacrificed himself, when Cthulhu was running amok,” Kyle explained. “Cartman had the dark god banish us to the sunken city of R'Lyeh, and when Kenny committed suicide there, he reincarnated earlier that morning, back home, in the real world. He was able to get us help that way.” Kyle gave Kenny a long, serious look. “Thank you,” he added, sniffling. “Damn, I never knew you cared so much about us!”

“You've all been so good to me,” Kenny told him, “Inviting me along, making sure I had food, or a shower, or clean clothes. I...I love you guys,” Kenny confessed, “More than I love my own family. Well, maybe not Karen, but you know? And then Craig helped me out, and I sorta started hanging around with him, when you all, you know?”

“Started to drift apart?” Kyle offered, as the three of them were becoming quite maudlin over the whole thing.

“But I don't get what you mean,” Butters asked Kenny, “About killing yourself in Craig's car? That's five years from now, right?”

Kenny nodded. “Yes. And when I did it, I must have made God, Fate, the Universe, or Someone pretty pissed off – because when I pulled the trigger, a bolt of lightning hit the auto shop. I'm guessing it disintegrated my body, and sent my consciousness back in time to now.”

“Hang on,” Kyle cut in, “You said that you'd done this before?”

Again, Kenny nodded, and his expression went hard. “This isn't my first trip through the ages of twelve to seventeen. The first time I came back, I failed to prevent the accident that killed – kills – Tweek.” Kenny looked at Butters again.

“Oh, no!” Butters squeaked, “Please tell me it wasn't because of me?”

“No, Leo,” Kenny assured him, hugging him again and kissing the top of his head. “I just missed the chance again.”

“So how'd you get back?” Kyle asked.

“I'm not sure, but I think I leaped back here, again, _at will_ ,” Kenny explained. “Things were turning out just like they had before, and I couldn't stand it. The only good thing about it, that time, was Leo. I had to go. And I had to leave you behind.” Kenny looked Butters in the eye. “You wanna know something else?”

“Uhm, well, I guess so?” Butters agreed.

“You're going to get a new cornea for your left eye, and an artificial lens put in when you're about fourteen, I think it was,” Kenny told him. “Or will be. I gave up on tenses a long time ago,” he shrugged. “And your gift for art is going to -”

“Don't tell me!” Butters smiled at him, as Kenny wiped his face with a tissue. “I wanna be surprised by some stuff, OK?” Butters smiled. “I have glasses, I just don't wear 'em.”

“You should. You looked good, that one time you were wearing those reading glasses,” Kenny encouraged him.

“I will, then,” Butters agreed.

“OK,” Kenny smiled, as things got rather emotional for a bit.

When they'd recovered, Kyle was looking serious again. “You never came to me for help before, and I didn't remember what I could do,” Kyle repeated, “So that makes me the wildcard, then? I'm the chance to change the future?”

“I think so,” Kenny agreed. “Korx said the same thing about you, the first time you accessed that dream dimension.”

“We might have bigger problems than Korx,” Kyle remembered, “Ike said something a while ago that almost made me shit myself.”

“What's that?” Butters asked.

“Who's the President?” Kyle asked him.

“Caitlyn Jenner, why?” Butters answered.

“Shit,” Kenny sighed, “When I left the future, at least the last time, Garrison was in his second term. Canada became like the Soviet Union was in the 1980's. The wall got built, and it was the New Cold War. There were a few border skirmishes, but Canada lost every one of them.”

“What happened to kids like Ike?” Kyle had to ask.

“You didn't talk about it,” Kenny shrugged, “I mean, it's not like you can tell he's Canadian by looking at him, and didn't all of your Caucasian Canadians originate in Europe, too? I dunno about anyone else, but Ike was fine.” Kenny paused.

“What?” Kyle asked, “If I know, it might help to -”

“Ike's gay, and Firkle was his boyfriend,” Kenny blurted, “Teddy Hastings died when he was like eight, but unlike me, he stayed dead. That is, until we starting messing with time, and changing things. I think we're in uncharted space now, as Kevin Stoley would say!”

“So, we're liable to walk out that door,” Kyle pointed, “Into a _present_ we know nothing about?”

“You saw Teddy again, Kyle, in this house,” Kenny reminded him, “And he's alive again. Just like Korx wasn't, and now is – or might not be.” Kenny considered for a moment. “You were kinda rough with him, Kyle. I dunno if I like what you did to him.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Kyle exclaimed.

“You invaded his mind by force, Kyle,” Kenny reminded him, “to get the information you wanted. You need to realize, and remember what Korx said – someone like you only comes along once in a thousand years. If Korx tells anyone else, you probably won't be safe. It wasn't the smartest thing to do, assaulting him like that.”

“But I -” Kyle began.

“Kyle,” Kenny interrupted him, “You know what a megalomaniac is?” Kenny asked, and Kyle nodded. “You need to be _very_ careful that you don't go nuts with this, and become one!”

“Wait, hang on,” Butters cut in, “What's this dream-thing, and Korx? Wasn't he the time refugee kid, from when the Goobacks were here?”

“That's him,” Kyle nodded, wondering that they were having to explain all of this to Butters again, “And when he came back to visit Tweek's shoppe, his coming set off those time ripples that changed some things.”

“Teddy being alive again, Jenner being President, Garrison being impeached,” Kyle thought aloud, “My telling Yates that Trent Boyette is innocent.”

“HOLY SHIT!” Butters squeaked in alarm, “I forgot about _him_!”

“Never mind that your Grandma had hired Trent to kill you,” Kenny reminded him. “We're going to have to deal with Trent, too, at some time. Never mind Dad trying to kill me and Butters, Dad being sent to prison, Cartman getting busted early,” Kenny added. “Like Korx said, we're making a real mess of the future.”

“Well, uhm, if you came back in time to save Tweek from dying in that crash, then why don't Korx help you?” Butters asked.

“That, dear Leo, is the question that preoccupies me,” Kenny smiled at him.

“The hell does that even _mean_?” Butters wondered. “You really _are_ older, in the head, ain't you?”

Kenny nodded. “Does that bother you, Leo?”

“No,” Butters answered right off.

“Does it bother _you,_ Kenny?” Kyle had to ask. “I mean, add a few months, and you would have been eighteen? It's like a seventh-grader dating a Senior!”

“I know,” Kenny admitted. “And I'm sure our relationship can't be the same again. But _this_ body's almost thirteen, just like Butters is. I mean, there's limitations.”

“I know about sex, and I've been molested by my uncle, you know,” Butters reminded them, sounding a bit harsh. “So, I can't see inside your head, and well, all's I can see is what's outside, and how you treat me.”

“Doesn't look like a high school Junior or Senior, does he?” Kyle grinned. “But I didn't think, I mean, it's none of my business,” Kyle fudged a bit, as they got off-topic. “But I thought, you know, after Lexus at _**Raisins,**_ and Charlotte, that you were straight, Butters?”

Butters' face went very pink. “I...I always kinda had a thing for Ken, ever since... you know?”

“Princess Kenny?” Kenny grinned.

“You guys, and your alternate personalities,” Kyle rolled his eyes.

“MPD can be fun, sometimes,” Kenny smiled.

“But isn't this just another persona, then?” Kyle wondered, “I mean, you're a Consciousness that's lost five years of physical brain development?”

“That's one way to look at it, and a very mature way, Kyle!” Kenny's eyebrows went up.

“Well, we gotta look at things like that from now on, I think,” Kyle mused, “Like who is Butters gonna live with, when does his mom get well, what to do about Cartman and Trent when they get loose, and all the shit we're bound to see that we'll remember differently.”

“So if time got changed, how's come you remember it the old way?” Butters asked, “When I don't?”

“I think it's because we're...we're,” Kenny paused.

“Immortals?” Kyle supplied, his face ashen.

“It's a good a term as any,” Kenny shrugged. “But if we're not careful, we _won't_ be for long!”

 


	19. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle & Kenny find that after the last change to history, things have changed again. This time, the scale is bigger, though. In the alternate dimension, the name on the random gravestone changes again, prompting Kyle to go back and risk another change. It's pre-school again, as Kyle unwittingly completes one Predestination Paradox, and puts right something that once went terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the episode "Quest for Ratings," Mister Meryl, the AV teacher, recommended that Craig be castrated for his TV show failing. The subject is mentioned here, as well, but not Craig. The show has also mentioned the rumor of Clyde only having one testicle, and loves to mention "balls" in general. Just a warning that balls are involved in this chapter, although not in a sexual scene. Just remember, "I will kick you in the nuts!" Famous quote.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 19  
Blue**

*****

“ME?!” Butters squeaked in surprise, “Why _me_?”

“Because,” Kenny sighed, after having gone over it all again. _God, I love this kid, but was he really this irritating when he was younger?_ “Because, Leo, when things changed, _you_ changed right along with it. Me and Kyle didn't.”

“Which makes no sense,” Kyle added.

“You're telling me that Mr. Garrison was _reelected?_ ” Butters laughed. Again. He'd seemed very amused when Kyle had told him that Ms. Jenner wasn't supposed to be the President, and Butters kept bursting out laughing without warning. It was getting rather unnerving. He'd even proven it to Kyle, showing him that his phone had Ms. Jenner's private number in it.

And so Kyle had called it using speakerphone.

“Kyle!” President Jenner had sounded so delighted to hear from him, “It's been a while!”

“I w-was...was just calling to wish you a Merry Christmas, Madame President,” Kyle had replied.

“I thought you were Jewish, Kyle?”

“Oh, I still am,” Kyle had replied lamely, “It's just that, you know, it's the holidays, and we miss you.”

“Awww, you're so sweet, Kyle! You know, you all should come visiting sometime!” President Jenner had offered.

Kenny palmed his face again at the thought of it all. The last thing that they needed was a trip to Washington to visit the president.

“Ripples,” Kenny reminded Kyle. “ _Now_ we don't know if it's Korx's ripples, or yours, that are causing all these shifts.”

“Or what the fuck else is gonna shift, or when,” Kyle agreed.

“ _Now_ do you see why I don't want you running amok, sliding around and changing shit?” Kenny repeated.

“OK, OK, geeez, I got it!” Kyle grumbled.

“So, are we going to see Stan working on Kenny's house today?” Butters asked.

“We'll need a ride,” Kenny pointed out the obvious.

“Why don't you just put Ike's old wagon on that wheelchair, like Timmy did with Handi-Car?” Kyle suggested. Then he blinked. He got down and looked under the chair. “That blue crystal Stan found is still there!”

“Leave it alone,” Kenny decided.

“But if it's cobalt, it could be toxic?” Kyle fretted.

“I doubt that Korx is trying to kill us,” Kenny theorized, “He's had ample opportunity.”

“And he's got all the _time_ in the world,” Kyle snorted in disgust, as he went to hitch up the wagon.

“Well, uhm, at least the sidewalks are clean,” Butters pointed out, as they rode on over towards Kenny's house.

“TIMMY!” Timmy greeted them, as they met up about halfway there. Timmy had his “Borg” implant in his forehead, the probe to monitor cranial pressure, and he seemed to be in a hurry. “Jimmy and Timmy!” He looked closely at Kenny's cast. “Oh, Kenny? Up?”

“Six weeks,” Kenny sighed, “Thanks again, Timmy. If you need the chair back, just let me know, OK?”

“Kenny!” Timmy nodded, as off he went.

“Borg-Timmy!” Butters grinned, “I think it's kinda neat!” He added, buffing his glasses on his blue jacket.

When they reached Kenny's neighborhood, the boys paused in surprise. _**Sodosopa**_ wasn't so much a ruin anymore, as it looked like it was only halfway built. Kenny didn't recognize his own house as they rolled up the cracked sidewalk.

“Well, that's...different,” Kenny pointed out, staring at the new faux-wood siding and windows that faced them. “Shit, I have a new roof!” He added, noting the dark blue sheet metal lifetime roofing job.

“You don't like it?” Butters wondered.

“I'm just wondering how it took nearly thirteen years, from my perspective, for anyone to decide to do anything like this?” Kenny reminded them. “All those years of scavenging for food, working shit jobs, mooching showers, or a place to stay the night? Where was everyone back then, when I was the one taking care of Karen?”

“Kenny!” Kevin McCormick called, as he came around the side of the house, “Whadda'ya think, little brother?” He asked happily. “Did you hear? Randy hired me full-time!”

“Be nice,” Kyle mumbled, “He could have changed!”

“Oh, he's _changed_ , all right,” Kenny nodded, taking in the sight of his brother, without braces, and working a real job.

“So, you know Mom's in rehab, right?” Kevin asked.

“Uh, no, no one told me,” Kenny answered, trying to be civil. “I haven't heard a peep outta anyone!”

“Kenny, look I know that I -” Kevin began.

“Save it,” Kenny interrupted him, “You ran out on us, and I'm staying with Kyle, without so much as a 'you OK?' outta you?”

The exchange made Kyle think of two dogs jockeying for the alpha position.

“That's great news!” Kyle congratulated Kevin.

“Yeah, the TV show's really taking off, too,” Kevin added, “Randy thinks it's gonna be big! He wants to expand it into _**Flippin' Off Houses**_! Get it?” Kevin laughed.

Butters laughed, but the other two just groaned.

“Craig will sue,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “It looks really good, though? You even made a ramp?”

“I won't be in this chair for the rest of my life,” Kenny pointed out.

“I know,” Kevin patted his shoulder, as Stan came out the sliding glass side doors of the east room, which were new. He was dressed in blue overalls with a red flannel shirt, yellow construction boots, and shaking off sawdust. His red poofball hat was covered with the stuff.

“You made it!” Stan greeted them jovially, dropping the board he was carrying, and coming to put his arm around Kyle. “Guys, I'm sorry I've been so busy and not been around!”

 _Well, this is a certainly a change!_ Kyle thought.

But as Stan touched him, a memory flashed through Kyle's mind: Stan had been drinking. A lot. He'd just gotten done throwing up when Kyle had arrived at Stark's Pond, at the dock, as Stan had called him. He'd been babbling incoherently, and it had taken Kyle several minutes to figure out where he was. Stan and Wendy had had another argument, and Stan hadn't taken it well. He was too drunk to even stand up when Kyle had arrived, and the vomiting had been spectacular.

“Stan, it's cold out here,” Kyle suddenly remembered telling him, “C'mon, we gotta get you home.”

Stan had slurred some kind of reply at him, and then just rolled over on the dock. Kyle remembered fearing that Stan would roll off into the freezing water, or at the very least, pass out on the dock and freeze to death.

Kyle remembered the dream of the cemetery. He saw, in his mind, Stan's dead body in the gardener's shed.

“Stan? STAN?” Kyle remembered yelling at him, trying to drag Stan to his feet, but Stan was simply too heavy. In his condition, he was no help at all, and only dead weight.

Kyle had called 911.

At the hospital, Stan had just been admitted to the ER when he'd begun to show symptoms of alcohol poisoning. He'd been cold and clammy, his lips already blue, and after throwing up, he's pissed himself as Kyle was trying to drag him off the dock. He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness. In the ER, he'd had a seizure, and ended up admitted. Kyle remembered Randy and Sharon having had enough, and Stan spending some time in rehab. The memories continued to hit Kyle hard and fast. He remembered Stan refusing to see him. He remembered coming to see Stan anyway. He remembered sitting outside Stan's door, waiting. He remembered the shouting match in which he'd finally broken down in tears, reminding Stan that he'd almost died. Reminding him that he would have died, if Kyle hadn't found him.

Kyle swooned a bit, and Stan steadied him.

“You OK, Kyle? Craig said you were sick the other day?” Stan asked, and out habit, Kyle sniffed.

There was no alcohol on Stan's breath, and Kyle covered the action by sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Thanks, no, I'm good,” Kyle replied, taking in Stan's ruddy cheeks, bright eyes, and his smile. _I don't remember the last time he looked like this!_

“Oh, _crap!_ ” Kenny then blurted, as Kevin cited having to get back to work. “Have you guys made it to my room yet?”

“Relax, Dude,” Stan assured him, “No, and Dad's left that one to me. I know you've got, uhm, _stuff_ hidden in there?”

“Yeah, all my spare gear, and costumes,” Kenny fretted, looking around nervously. _They hadn't even started this project, before Kyle did his thing!_

“Your secret is safe with me,” Stan smiled. “So, you wanna give me any ideas for your room, Kenny?”

“A solid roof, heat, and insulation?” Kenny suggested. “Oh, and a nice, big, easy-open window?”

“You get all that,” Stan shrugged, “I meant, anything special?”

“That _is_ special,” Kenny replied. “More so, since you're doing it.”

Stan blinked at him. “Uhm, thanks?”

“Oh, boys!” Randy spotted them, “Come and look at this family room!” He called excitedly.

“Is it a boxing ring?” Kenny rolled his eyes. “Really? A family room?”

“It's gonna be a real house when we're done, Kenny,” Stan told him, “Not a shack. It's our highest rated show, so far! The advertisers are all over this one!”

“Glad I could help,” Kenny sighed again.

“He's a little...upset,” Kyle offered.

“The cold's making my broken bones hurt,” Kenny reminded them, as they went inside.

Kevin and Stan were right – Kenny didn't recognize it. For one thing, it was warm inside. The open concept kitchen and dining room setup wasn't new, as the front of the house had just been one large room. What was new was everything from the wall studs on out. The kitchen and dining room appeared finished, and the family room was close. The ceiling was higher, and Kenny saw a gas log fireplace being installed at the far end.

“It...it looks like a real house?” Kenny looked around in wonder at the freshly painted walls with paper trim, the spackled ceilings, and the new blue carpet.

“Well, we concentrated on the roof, and the outside, to get a real heating system going in here,” Randy pointed out, “And with all the work going on with _**Sodosopa**_ , well, if we run out of something, we can always pick up a thing or two!”

“Like drug addicts?” Butters asked, winking at Kenny.

“They've all been cleared out, and the Housing Authority is giving the homeless first shot at state-assisted housing,” Randy shook his head, “Yates and his boys cleaned this place out good, along with some vigilantes called 'Toolshed' and 'Zorro'. Heard they did a lot of damage with some explosives, even!”

Stan sneaked a wink at Kenny.

When Randy was finally done with his spiel, Stan showed his friends around. “Everyone's pitched in, all but Cartman, that is,” Stan told them. “David caters lunch about every day, Tweek handles breakfast, and the rest just drop by to do what they can.”

“You got into my C-4 plastique?” Kenny hissed at him.

“Blew the hell outta those old high-rises!” Stan smiled, “Don't worry, Uncle Jimbo's never gonna miss a case of blasting caps.”

“Is Cartman still in jail?” Kyle asked, wondering if that had changed.

Stan nodded. “Yeah, Craig was pretty pissed about his tires. Him and Tweek are here somewhere,” Stan looked around.

“Tweek?” Kenny exclaimed.

“Yeah, he's really good with a hammer, believe it or not!” Stan laughed.

“He shouldn't be doing any hard labor,” Kenny quickly pointed out.

“Why?”

“His heart,” Kyle cut in, “All that stress on it, you know? From the meth days?”

“Right,” Stan snapped his fingers. “I'll make sure the guys know. You know Craig's got him on decaff now?”

“Let's hope,” Butters mumbled, looking down the hallway. “You want me to go get your stuff?” He asked Kenny.

“Yeah, that'd be great, Leo!” Kenny nodded.

“So, you and Butters?” Stan asked, as Butters went to Kenny's old room.

“Yes?” Kenny asked in reply, his tone a bit dangerous.

“Hey, it's cool!” Stan held up his hands, winking at Kyle. “You just have to tolerate us poor old heteros, OK?”

“Or us eunuchs,” Kyle muttered under his breath.

“You're just a late bloomer, Kyle,” Stan assured him, hugging his shoulders again.

And while Kyle liked the feeling of camaraderie, he felt nothing more than relief. He wondered, if in this altered timeline, if he'd kissed Stan or not.

“Kyle, what's wrong?” Stan asked, which felt like a real role reversal.

“I'm just...I dunno,” Kyle shrugged, “I don't feel right. I'm kinda disoriented.”

“Me too,” Kenny looked around again. “Why does this dining room décor look so familiar? And so blue?”

“I picked it out!” Clyde Donovan declared proudly, as he came out of the bathroom just inside the hallway entry.

“It looks like yours, Clyde?” Stan reminded him, “I was thinking the same thing!”

“It's great,” Kenny finally smiled, “Thank you.”

“So, any word on where you're staying, Butters?” Stan then asked, looking like he wanted to say more, but was afraid to.

“Not yet,” Butters answered, “But Kyle's folks said I can stay as long as I need to.”

“That's cool! Hang on, I'll be right back,” Stan excused himself, as he headed for the bathroom.

“Clyde,” Another worked shouted, “I need wallpaper cut over here!”

“So when are we doin' that special set?” A familiar voice then asked, “Randy? Bro, where you at?” PC Principal was calling.

“You're helping, sir?” Kenny asked.

“Well, Strong Woman and I have sort of been staying here, watching the place at night,” PC Principal explained, “Since our apartment got flooded when that pipe burst, and the toilet exploded! After we got the heat on here, that is!”

“You get used to it, after about twelve years,” Kenny shrugged, “Thanks. I dunno what to say?”

PC Principal then looked at Butters. “Leopold, may I call you that?”

“Uhm, sure?” Butters agreed.

“Leopold, I know your mom is having a rough time now, and you are too, what with the shit that went down with Mister McCormick, you dad, and your grandma. What we'd like to do, as we're certified foster parents now, and we've taken in little Aaron Hagen, is to rent your house. We'd stay in the guest room, of course, and help out when your mom comes home,” PC Principal proposed. “But that's up to you, Dude!”

Butters didn't seem to know what to say, but Kenny was reminded of the principal in that future that he'd left behind. Kenny remembered how caring the man had been, making sure that Kenny ate, kept up with his classes, and even carried him to get help when Kenny had collapsed. He remembered how PC Principal had held him, and how the intimidating-looking man had seemed near to losing it himself.

And Kenny remembered how that PC Principal had cared about Craig Tucker.

“Y-you wanna live...in my house?” Butters repeated it back.

“Technically, we'd be your foster parents,” PC Principal clarified, “But yes, we'd be boarders. Usually, it's the foster child that moves, you know. It's hard to find a good place in this town these days, at least, until this mess is all sorted out!” He gestured with his arms up, indicating _**Sodosopa**_.

 _So Kenny's dad is still in jail, his mom's in rehab, Kevin seems fine, Stan's clean and sober, the house is coming along, and Grandma Stotch is still dead,_ Kyle thought, glancing at Kenny, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“Of course, it's still your house,” PC Principal told Butters, “And you know that we are perfectly fine with it, should you continue to pursue a homosexual relationship with Kenny here! You guys _do_ know about informed consent? Do I need to have the Creek-talk with you two?”

“No, sir!” Kenny almost laughed.

“Where's those damn nails?” Craig shouted from down the hallway.

“Aw, shit!” PC Principal gasped, “Coming!” He called back, as he fled. “Think about it, OK, Bro?”

“I think we really messed things up here,” Kyle nodded somberly.

“I dunno, I kinda like it,” Kenny shrugged again. “What do you think, Leo?”

“HIM? Livin' in _my_ house?” Butters gasped. Then he thought about it. “Well, it _was_ kinda nice, those times they took me out to lunch.”

“You get to be Aaron Hagen's big brother?” Kyle reminded him. “I think they'd make great foster parents.”

“After all the crap me and the principal butted heads on?” Butters exclaimed, looking very much like Tweek.

“It is kinda surreal, isn't it?” Kyle mused.

“What's that mean?” Butters asked. “Blue?” He looked around again.

“Weird,” Kenny supplied, “And you're right. It's surreal.”

“And Cartman's still in jail,” Kyle reminded them, as they headed down the hall to fetch Kenny's hidden things.

“Just like I left it,” Kenny sighed, as he looked around his room. “The floor board under the bed is loose, and there's one in the closet, too,” he pointed out. “That panel on the far wall comes off, which is where the costumes are. There's a spare backpack in the dresser.”

“We only brought you the three rats,” Stan told them, as he came in. “Karen said she could keep the rest of them at Craig's, even if they're not so tame.”

“Does Mrs. Tucker know?” Kenny had to ask.

“Nope,” Stan grinned, giving Kyle a look. “So, I hear Cartman's in jail?”

“You've really been into this job, haven't you?” Kyle had to ask, looking at the paint swatches on the wall. Most of them were shades of blue.

“Yeah,” Stan shrugged. “Word is, that Mysterion got him – and Craig denies doing it?” He looked at Kenny's casted leg. “He says he wouldn't be caught dead in purple spandex?”

“It was me,” Kyle confessed, “Cartman was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I dunno what came over me.”

“Speaking of,” Stan added, as he handed Kenny a box of Mysterangs from the hidden space under the floorboard, under the bed, “What's up with these things? You could _kill_ someone with these!”

“I know,” Kenny replied with Mysterion's voice, which made Butters gasp and look at him. Butters was currently packing up some Princess Kenny outfits in a box. “Sometimes, you have to fight dirty. Like a couple of nights ago,” Kenny reminded them.

“Just be careful, and don't let it get away from you, OK?” Stan recommended, as Kyle stared hard at Kenny. “We've all got our demons, I guess.”

“So long as you don't end up coming up through the pavement again, after another sojourn in Hell,” Kenny reminded him.

“Now _that_ was a superpower!” Stan laughed, as they continued packing.

“You were possessed by Satan,” Kenny reminded him.

“Wasn't that bad,” Stan shrugged, as Kyle and Butters both decided they weren't touching that one.

“What do you think we should do?” Kyle asked Kenny, as they made a final check of the room.

“It'll never be the same again,” Kenny answered, “I think we just need to go with it. Let all the ripples settle, see what happens over the next four years. It doesn't seem so bad now, does it?”

“Not yet, but we still have the rest of the town to check out,” Kyle told Kenny. “We have no idea what we're walking into.”

“Maybe if we just wait, that Korx kid will come back,” Stan suggested, which made them all look at him. “What? You told me about him! Craig, Tweek, and Clyde all saw him. Craig thinks he brought Tweek some kind of special present.”

“He did,” Kenny nodded, “And I think you're right, Stan. I mean, PC Principal wants to adopt Butters! How much weirder can this all get?”

“Don't say it,” Kyle shivered, “Just _don't_ say it, OK?”

“Well, _I_ hate to say it, fellas, but remember Trent Boyette? He gets out pretty soon, since we all told Yates that he was framed!” Butters reminded them.

“Oh, shit!” Stan gasped, his voice going lower. “Trent's gonna wanna murder us!”

“Maybe I can all President Jenner, and get some Secret Service guys sent in?” Kyle smiled.

“Dude, you can call the President? That's awesome!” PC Principal gasped, as he came back to get an extension cord.

“Have at it, sir,” Kyle handed him his phone.

“ _That's_ the spirit!” Kenny smiled back, as he decided to stay and just watch the community rebuilding his neighborhood.

*

The almost-full moon shone down over the cemetery that night, casting pale shadows over the bright snow. Atop a tall Celtic cross tombstone, a figure in purple and black perched like some bird of prey, waiting for a victim to move below him. In his left hand, he held a scythe. From behind his cowl, hidden blue eyes scanned the cemetery for any sign of movement, pausing only now and then to glare at the shining white marble angel.

“Planning on reaping?” Another voice broke the silence.

“Perhaps,” Mysterion replied, wondering that there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to his appearance in this odd place.

“So is it like this for you – for us – every night?”

“Not every night, but a lot of them,” Mysterion nodded. “I don't mind coming here. It reminds me that I still have work to do.” He glanced at the other person, who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere to sit on a gravestone shaped like a park bench.

“I used to dream about things like visiting the Holy Land,” Kyle Broflovski replied, picking at the short tunic he wore. “Or just silly shit.”

“You're looking somewhat Babylonian tonight?” Mysterion pointed out. “If it were actually cold here, or if we perceived it, you'd be freezing your ass off, in that short thing!” He snickered once. “Nice legs!”

“Must be the mood I was in,” Kyle shrugged, “At least I didn't get the funny beard.”

“You were in a fine mood, when you were opening presents earlier,” Mysterion reminded him. “Thanks for the new hoodie, by the way.”

“It's been a good Hanukkah,” Kyle smiled, looking around. “I've never shared it with friends before. So, what do we do now?”

“We wait,” Mysterion decided, “And hope that no one else shows up.” He pointed his scythe at the empty spaces around the weeping angel.

“Do you think he's really...buried down there?” Kyle dared ask.

“In this dimension, I'd say yes,” Mysterion decided.

Overhead, the stars moved. Kyle looked up at them, thinking that those stars were moving almost right for leaving trails in the black sky. “They're never so clear, in real life.”

“I'm beginning to wonder just how real _this_ place is,” Mysterion countered, “But seeing as how Craig drove back home the other night, perhaps not so much.”

“It was real enough to give Tweek a heart attack,” Kyle disagreed, shuddering.

“You _saw_ him, didn't you?” Mysterion had to ask. “I know it wasn't pretty.”

Kyle nodded somberly, but said nothing at all.

They sat in silence for the longest time. A few shooting stars went by. Jupiter rose, along with Orion, and headed west.

“The Winter Triangle,” Mysterion pointed out, Betelgeuse in Orion, Procyon in Canis Minor, and Sirius in Canis Major. A near-perfect equilateral triangle.”

“It's still there,” Kyle pointed at the angel.

“I know,” Mysterion shrugged.

“It's the only one, other than Firkle's,” Kyle observed. “I feel bad for Ike.”

“We just have to face it, Kyle, that it might not be possible to save everyone,” Mysterion admitted. “I know it's a harsh thing to say, but Ike's only eight. He doesn't know what being in love is like – yet. Better that he lost Firkle now, than in another four years or so.” Mysterion looked down the lane, and toward the road that eventually led to the 285 on-ramp. “You never saw Craig, like I did. He didn't remember Tweek, at first. It wasn't pretty when he did.”

“I saw an older Craig once, here,” Kyle corrected him, gazing at the angel again, “And the angel was covered in blood. You think they'll pardon Trent?”

“I hope so,” Mysterion nodded. “We really fucked him over, Kyle.”

“I know.”

“And yes, I've thought about changing that, too,” Mysterion added.

“We could. Maybe we _should_?” Kyle proposed, hopping down and sinking in snow over his ankles.

“And risk killing someone else?” Mysterion countered again. “No.”

“And what happens when our parents find out that we framed him?” Kyle had to ask.

“Good point,” Mysterion agreed, but in Kenny's voice. “You ever notice how the moon-shadows look so blue at night?”

“No? I don't go out at night, much.”

“I do.”

They sat in silence for a while longer. Orion had nearly set in the west.

“It's always the innocent who pay the highest price,” Kenny finally offered, looking around again. His scythe was gone, and Kyle saw that he was dressed in his usual orange parka again. “I sometimes wonder just how many times _I've_ been buried here.”

“There's times I wished I had been,” Kyle nodded.

“Something tells me you won't be, for a long time – _if_ ever,” Kenny pointed out. “How's the song go? 'We could be Immortals'?”

“'Just not for long,'” Kyle completed the verse. “Sounds like a paradox.”

“Yeah,” Kenny agreed. “You know, I think I hate that empty spot next to Tweek's grave more than anything else. I never know who I'm gonna find buried there.”

“Looks like Korx isn't coming?” Kyle changed the subject. “Why do you supposed he showed up here to begin with?”

“We wiped him and his people out of existence, then brought only some of them back,” Kenny explained, “I figure it probably pissed him off.”

Kyle moved towards the angel statue. “Or maybe he's one of those 'once-in-a-thousand-years' beings, like me?”

“Possible,” Kenny nodded, “But keep in mind, from what we've seen, he has to use technology. You don't.”

“That's what bothers me,” Kyle replied, “He came back and gave Tweek something. There's a blue cobalt crystal mounted under Timmy's wheelchair. I keep thinking about that. That, and the color blue. Blue eyes, blue paint, blue clothes. It's everywhere.”

“For me, it was yellow,” Kenny pointed out.

“Color opposites,” Kyle mused. “I think it has something to do with that Melting Clock Paradox thing.”

“I still think we need to wait and see,” Kenny reminded him.

“Uhhh, Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

Kyle pointed to the plot next to Tweek's grave, which had suddenly become clear of snow.

The gravestone read: LEOPOLD “BUTTERS” STOTCH.

“Fuck!” Kenny swore, “No, not again! Not Leo! That damn stone vanished when his grandma died!”

“Maybe us telling Yates that we framed Trent brought it back?” Kyle theorized, “If they let him out, maybe he's still coming after Butters, and us?”

Kenny nodded. “He went for Butters first, the first time he got out. It makes sense. He'll kill Butters, then he'll get caught.”

“So what do we do? Lock up Butters?” Kyle asked.

Kenny shook his head. “If that gravestone is back, then it means that it _has_ happened. It _will_ happen, if we do nothing.” Kenny stared at Butters' grave until the eastern sky began to lighten. It was turning red.

“It's your call,” Kyle finally said.

“I don't even know if I _can_ leap back, and if I do, what if I stay there?” Kenny wondered, “Shit! I do _not_ wanna be in nursery school again, and have to wait for time to catch up with me!” Kenny jumped down and began to pace. “I leaped back at will, to 'now', when I was almost eighteen, when I missed the chance to save Tweek and Craig again. That much I know. The thing is, Kyle, I'm _twelve_ now. I still don't remember _how_ I did it! And even if I do manage to do it, and change things, I doubt that four-year-old ME will know how to leap back ahead again.” He gave Kyle a hard look.

“But how do we know that Trent killed him? _Will_ kill him?” Kyle asked. “Butters could have been sick, or a victim of crime, or -”

“I know one way to find out?” Kenny held out his hands. “You got _some_ of the information you wanted, when you mentally attacked Korx. How about, once we're awake, you go and visit Trent and see what's in his head?”

Kyle gaped at him. “You want me to go and visit Trent Boyette, and then brain-rape him?!” Kyle exclaimed. “Didn't you just get done telling me that you _didn't_ want to change anything else?”

“That was before this,” Kenny pointed at Butters' grave. He then turned away to begin walking down the lane. Kyle followed. “I can't lose him again, Kyle. I left him, stranded there, in that future I screwed up...for all four of us.”

“That future isn't set in stone, Kenny,” Kyle reminded him, “You're here with Butters, now, and that's all that matters.”

“For Leo, it doesn't even exist now,” Kenny sighed, as the sun broke the eastern horizon, filling the sky with deep oranges and reds.

Kenny thought it looked like blood.

*

The boys awoke that next morning as usual. Korx had never shown up in that strange, dreamlike dimension that night. Kyle was, as usual, alone in his bed. In the guest room, Kenny awoke before Butters. As he lay there, watching Butters sleep, he glanced over at his two backpacks and a small suitcase. In his twelve years of life, it was all that he had accumulated. Twelve years. He wondered how the Broflovskis would react to finding out about the arsenal that was packed up in one of the backpacks, including a stolen .38 Special with no numbers. Kenny smirked. After all, Stuart wouldn't be needing it anymore.

He turned back to Butters, lost in thought.

 _I can't lose him. Maybe it's really me, and not one of the Alternates. It's not the Princess, or Mysterion. Maybe for him, it's not Professor Chaos, Mantequilla, or any of the others. It might have been Paladin Butters that fell in love with Princess Kenny, but that doesn't matter. I left him once. And I can't lose him! He deserves more than that. He deserves so much more,_ Kenny thought.

 _So does Trent Boyette,_ The Other spoke up.

_You think I don't know that?_

_So what are you going to do about it?_ The Other demanded, _They aren't just going to let Trent out, give him a settlement, and say 'sorry'!_

 _I know,_ Kenny realized, thinking about that gravestone, as he gently touched Butters' ear. Butters' hair was growing out from that awful shaved-up-the-sides-and-back style with only that puff of thick hair on top. Kenny thought it had looked ridiculous, and wondered if his parents did that to him to humiliate him. Given all the other sick things they'd done to him, Kenny wouldn't have been surprised.

_What kind of pervert is turned on by taking naked pictures of his own son?_

_He's a child,_ The Other reminded Kenny, _He's a child, and you're seventeen or so. More than that, really. You're fucking ancient._

_Shut up!_

_I will not shut up,_ The Other told him, _You nearly got him killed the other night, when Stuart came after you. Now you're going to get him killed when Trent comes after him. Unless you change it?_ The Other added, sounding sly.

“Kyle can change it,” Kenny whispered, which awakened Butters.

“Huh?” Butters moaned, looking like he was ready to cry, as he rubbed his eyes. “Kenny?”

“You're not even awake yet,” Kenny teased him, kissing his cheek.

“I had this awful dream,” Butters yawned and stretched. “I dreamed that Trent was chasing me through town, but no one could see us!”

“It was just a dream,” Kenny assured him, as the two of them decided to get up.

“I hope Kyle didn't, uhm, like, go all to pieces, if _he_ had a bad dream?” Butters wondered, as he got his ankle cast snapped on and helped Kenny slide over into the wheelchair. “Your ribs still hurt?”

“Yeah, it's nothing a pain pill can't fix,” Kenny gasped. “I just wish I could get a real shower,” he picked at the wrappings around his chest.

“Have Nurse Gollum come and help. She can put a new wrap on, I bet?” Butters offered.

“We've got bigger problems than that,” Kenny pointed out. “You know that Trent really _is_ probably going to be paroled?”

“Yeah,” Butters sighed, sitting back down on the bed. “Not like we can get away fast now.”

“You ever wonder what would have happened, if we'd never goaded Trent into setting that fire?” Kenny asked.

Butters looked sharply at him. “You're gonna go back and change _that_?”

“If he gets out, and he will – now that we've confessed to framing him – he's going to kill you,” Kenny told Butters. “I've seen it happen before, and I won't let it happen again!” He fibbed. So far as Kenny knew, Trent had stayed in juvie until age fourteen, and never come back to South Park.

But that was in another Timeline.

Butters was pale and trembling. “Wh-what if something goes wrong?”

“Trent might end up being your best friend,” Kenny shrugged, “Anything is possible.”

Butters thought about it.

“This last time, you said a lot of stuff changed. Even me?” Butters asked, and Kenny nodded. “So what if a whole bunch of stuff changes again?”

“I'm willing to take that chance,” Kenny replied.

“I'm not!” Butters countered, as Kyle tapped on the door.

“Can I come in?” Kyle asked.

“Well, yeah, it's your house?” Butters shrugged. “Me and Ken were just talkin' about -”

“I know,” Kyle interrupted. “And I've been thinking about it since I got up.”

“It's too much of a risk!” Butters protested, “The whole town, I mean, everything we know, happened _without_ Trent here! I mean, you said that Korx came back for donuts, and that changed all kinds of stuff? A box of fuckin' _donuts_?” Butters exclaimed.

“And Tweek not having a heart attack,” Kyle added, looking hard at Kenny. “I'm willing to try it.”

Butters and Kenny stared at him for a moment, then at one another. Butters began to protest again, but Kenny pressed a finger to Butters' lips.

“All five of us were in on it,” Kenny reminded Butters, “And there's a very good chance that once Trent is cleared, they'll charge _us_ for what we did.”

“We go to juvie, and God only knows what that'll do to the future,” Kyle nodded.

“It pretty much ensures that Tweek is going to die in that car crash,” Kenny agreed, “And that Craig will either be disabled, or kill himself.”

Kenny grabbed a notebook and wrote out: **Trent Boyette innocent. Time changed again. He won't go to juvie, no fire.** “Fix that thought in your mind, Butters,” Kenny told him, handing him the paper, “That's if we're still here when Kyle gets back.”

“What if we're...we're,” Butters fumbled, “Not friends when he does?”

“Then I'll still love you, Leo,” Kenny assured him, nodding to Kyle, as he held tight to Butters' hand.

“Think you can hit the target?” Butters asked.

Kyle sat down on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes. “The target is _me_. In pre-school,” he whispered, as bits and pieces of him began to phase in and out. Although his eyes were closed, Kyle saw everything explode into a familiar miasma of colors.

“Dude, let's play firemen!” Stan was saying.

“Totally, Dude, let's play firemen!” Kyle agreed, opening his eyes. _Holy shit, I did it! Good grief, we look goofy_!

“Jews can't be firemen!” Cartman teased Kyle.

“Shut up, Fatass!” Kyle snapped, suddenly feeling as if someone were watching him.

 _It worked! Pre-school!_ Kyle thought, glancing around the room.

“Don't call me fat, you stupid Jew!” Cartman retorted.

“How about we put out a real fire?” Kenny asked.

“Hey, Kenny's right, we should put out a real fire. Then we'll be heroes!” Stan agreed.

“But how do we start a fire?” Cartman wondered.

 _All right, this is the tipping point! Prevent the fire! Oh, fingerpaints over there? I wanna fingerpaint! SHIT!_ Focus _, Kyle!_ “We shouldn't,” Kyle said, “Someone might get hurt!”

“Trent Boyette will do it, he's the toughest, baddest kid in school!” Stan said.

 _Shit, that didn't work!_ Kyle thought, looking up to see Trent Boyette beating another boy's fingers with a toy hammer. _Here goes the Timeline!_

Kyle then walked over to the window, where a large sprinkler can sat with the various plants. His friends were trying to convince Trent to start the fire. Trent was pulling his lighter out, and Kyle struggled with the watering can. “Damn, this thing is heavy when you're little!”

Trent was flicking his lighter, but it wasn't catching. He'd just bent down to try it again, when Kyle doused him!

_That's it, that's changed it! The fire won't get set now!_

“The hell'd you do that for?” Trent demanded, falling over backwards in surprise as the others just looked on.

“How stupid can you be, to light a fire in here?” Kyle asked.

“I'll bust your head open!” Trent told him, as he got up and moved towards Kyle. The others scattered.

“I don't think so,” Kyle replied, “Why you gotta be so mean all the time, Trent? No wonder no one likes you!”

Trent swung, but Kyle caught his fist. Trent gasped in surprise, that someone was actually standing up to him. Kyle then kicked Trent square in the nuts!

“Oh, that was good one!” Cartman clapped, “Right in the _nuts_!”

Trent went down howling. _God, I hope I didn't hurt him too bad!_ Kyle thought.

“Fuck with us again, Trent, and next time, your balls will be up where your tonsils are!” Kyle threatened him. “Everybody's had enough of your shit! Why don't you be nice, for once?”

“You got a potty-mouth, Kyle,” Cartman informed him.

“Oh – my – God!” Stan gasped, as everyone else just stared at Trent.

“Boys! What's going on here?” Miss Claridge demanded, as she came running over with Butters.

“Trent Boyette hurt his balls, Ma'am!” Kenny piped up.

Trent was crying and squirming, then he turned his head and vomited.

“Boys, watch him while I get help!” Miss Claridge said, as she ran to the door.

“What are you doin', Kyle?” Stan asked, as Kyle reached into Trent's pocket and took his switchblade knife out.

“You be nice, or I'll … I'll cut your _balls_ off, and...and...cook 'em into chili, next time!” Kyle warned Trent, who could only lay there and cry. “This bully-shit ends right now, Trent!”

“Chili?” Cartman wondered, “I like chili!”

 _Oh, God, what have I done? Chili?! I said 'chili'?_ Kyle thought, as Chef and Principal Victoria came to help Trent. Moments later, and an ambulance arrived to take Trent to the ER. Kyle's head began to spin, and the room dissolved into a miasma of colors.

“Kyle?” Kenny was shaking him, “Kyle, you OK? WAKE UP!” Kenny then yelled in Kyle's ear.

“AIGH!” Kyle gasped, sitting upright on the bed in the guest room. “I...I'm here? I'm home? What happened? Did it work?”

“I don't know,” Kenny shrugged, “Butters?” he asked, as Butters was still holding the paper.

“Uhm, well, I guess it did, if you mean that Kyle came back?” Butters wondered, looking at the paper. “Trent Boyette? In juvie? For a fire?” Butters looked confused. “You mean Trent, the lead choirboy at church?”

“The WHAT?!” Kyle and Kenny both gasped.

“Oh, uhm, you did that blink-out thing, didn't you, Kyle?” Butters nodded, “Because Trent used to be mean, I mean, well, until you kicked him in the balls that one day in pre-school!”

“He was going to start a fire,” Kenny reminded Butters.

“Yeah, but Kyle soaked him with the water can!” Butters laughed.

“Sounds about right?” Kyle shuddered, “What else? There was no fire?”

“I still remember the fire,” Kenny told him.

“You don't remember Trent comin' back to school, after they had to cut his balls off?” Butters asked.

“WHAT?!” Kyle and Kenny both shouted in alarm.

“Kyle kicked him so hard, that he ruptured both of 'em. Trent had to have emergency surgery. Well, why do you think he's the lead choirboy? He's famous! He's sold like millions of CD's of his singing, he does tours, and he's rich,” Butters informed them, “And you don't remember any of this, do you? You said you wouldn't, just like when Tweek had a heart attack, and you changed that?”

“OK, that didn't change,” Kenny nodded, “What else?”

“What?” Butters asked, “Trent's a nice kid. Everybody likes him. Well, I think they kinda feel sorry for him, you know? Gosh, but wouldn't that be awful, havin' your balls cut off?”

“God, I'm the school bully now,” Kyle sighed.

“You were pretty upset when we found out about Trent,” Butters went on, “But with as mean as he was, well, no one felt too sorry for him. He sure was scared of you, though! Still is, I think?”

“But he's OK otherwise?” Kenny asked.

“Well, yeah, him and Douglas, Brimmy, Dog Poo, and Melvin, you know, the boy with the earmuffs? They're all pretty quiet and shy, don't ever say much,” Butters explained.

“So are people afraid of me?” Kyle asked.

“Well, no? Why?” Butters shrugged, “You never did nothin' like that ever again, you felt so bad. I think Cartman's the only person you've ever hit.”

“Sounds right,” Kenny nodded again. “I guess we'll find out?”

“Trent Boyette, a choirboy?” Kyle shook his head, as they headed to the kitchen for breakfast. “Geeez, I wonder what else I wrecked?”

“You kicked him in the balls?” Kenny wondered.

“Right after I doused him with the watering can,” Kyle nodded, “So there was no fire.”

“Yeah, you were gonna play 'firemen'!” Butters snapped his fingers, “Then Trent lit the rug on fire, and then -” Butters paused, “Why do I remember the fire? There wasn't a fire? Or was there?” Butters blinked. “Miss Claridge! She got burnt half to death! She was in a _**Star Trek**_ kinda wheelchair!”

“Uh oh,” Kenny gasped.

“Oscillation between two timelines?” Kyle wondered.

“Let's hope?” Kenny shrugged, “Looks like he remembers _both_ Timelines?”

Kyle snapped his fingers. “You were holding his _hand!_ ” Kyle guessed, “You were holding his hand, when I leaped!”

“Miss Claridge being healthy could have altered a lot of things,” Kenny mused.

“Trent Boyette doing a concert tour as a famous boy soprano would, too!” Kyle pointed out. “I mean, for fuck's sake, Kenny! They had to cut his BALLS off!”

The three boys stared at the bedroom door, suddenly unsure of what was on the other side of it.

“So, what do we do?” Kyle finally asked.

“I guess we have breakfast, then go to my house and see what's new there?” Kenny shrugged.

Nothing seemed to have changed at Kyle's house, until Ike came down to breakfast. He was on his phone, talking about going to the mall.

“Just because I'm Jewish doesn't mean I don't have Christmas shopping to do!” Ike was telling someone, as Sheila told him to sit down and eat. “I gotta go! You call Teddy and see if he wants to go too, OK?” Ike ended the call.

“You're going to the mall?” Kyle asked.

“It's like déjà vu,” Sheila shook her head, “Ike's gang! It's just like you, Bubbie, with all your friends!”

“Yep!” Ike agreed happily, “Me, Conner, Firkle, Quaid, and Teddy! Just like you guys used to be!”

Kyle choked on his strip of turkey bacon, and Butters pounded his back.

“So, Firkle – Georgie, that is – is OK?” Kenny asked.

“Why wouldn't he be?” Ike shrugged. “You know, if you guys aren't going out, Teddy could use your wheelchair?”

“Why?” Kenny asked.

“Duh?” Ike rolled his eyes, “His leg brace? When that old lady hit him at the Farmers' Market? His arms get sore, using those cheap mall wheelchairs!”

“Better crippled than dead,” Kenny whispered to Kyle.

“I suddenly feel like staying in,” Kyle whispered back, as his phone buzzed with a text message.

**STAN: I'll be over in a bit to pick you guys up.**

“I guess we've got stuff to do?” Butters wondered.

“I still think you should take it easy, Kenny,” Sheila told him, as Gerald just sat reading the newspaper.

“I...I won't do much, Ma'am,” Kenny replied, “Just sit and supervise.”

Stan arrived a little later on his dad's ATV to pick up the boys. When they arrived at Kenny's house, nothing there seemed to have changed. Tweek and Craig had just cleaned up from breakfast, and Randy's TV show was filming. When lunchtime rolled around, David arrived to cater that. Mr. Lu Kim and his wife, Wing, were also there, as Mexican food didn't sit well with some of the workers.

“This really great for business, Dennis, and get me on TV!” Mr. Lu Kim told Kenny, “Sure miss you at'a work!”

“You found anything wrong yet?” Kyle asked, when they broke for lunch.

“Just that this is creepy!” Butters said, looking a bit rattled. “I remember Teddy getting run over, _and_ Firkle killing himself! But they're both alive!”

“Welcome to the world of messing up the Timeline,” Kenny shrugged. “You get used to it!” He laughed.

“Hey, fellas?” A soft voice asked shyly, and the boys turned to see Trent Boyette with a plate in his hand. “Mind if I join you?”

“N-not at all?” Kyle squeaked, taking in Trent's yellow flannel shirt and dirty blue overalls. Trent sat down next to him, and Kyle fought down the urge to jump up and run.

“So, what brings you here, Trent?” Kenny asked, as if nothing at all were amiss. Kyle looked as if he were about to faint, as did Butters.

“Well, we're still ripping out the old bushes, clumps of weeds, treating the soil,” Trent explained, “We're kinda behind, and we can't put in anything until spring, but for the cold weather bulbs, you know. I think your mom will like the front flower garden, Kenny. Got that one tree trimmed up, and I had to get the plans for replacing the sidewalks to Randy, so we'll still have space for the hedges.”

“So, you do landscaping?” Butters wondered.

“It's a hobby, something to do between recordings,” Trent nodded, “I thought you knew that?”

“Butters didn't, uhm, sleep too well last night,” Kyle fibbed, “He's kinda out of it.”

“Oh, I'm sorry!” Trent said, as another boy walked up.

He was dressed in tan coveralls, and he was quite dirty. For a moment, the boys thought it might be Dog Poo Petruski, until the boy spoke.

“Do you mind terribly, Trent, old boy?” Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup asked, as Trent scooted over.

Kyle, Butters, and Kenny all made odd little sounds of surprise, staring at him with dropped jaws.

“Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, Gents,” Pip explained, “But it's a real mess under there, getting all the vents properly sealed, and all that rot! They had to have someone quite small, you see!”

“You're ALIVE!” Butters blurted.

Trent and Pip exchanged a look.

“Leo must have had a bad dream, or something?” Kenny offered. “I think he had this idea that you'd been killed, I think when Barbara Streisand attacked the town?”

“Oh, we were in Liverpool, then,” Trent explained, “Yes, glad we missed that! Phillip went with me on the UK concert tour. He was a great help!”

“Uhhhhh,” Kyle groaned, as his eyes rolled back in his head, and he went face-down, right in the middle of his Chili Colorado and beans.

 


	20. Christmas Eve, and Other Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle learns to adjust to diabetes, with Scott's help. Kenny has another nightmare, and Christmas Eve is celebrated at Kenny's new house. Stan has left a surprise for Kenny, too, having rebuilt his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there is no "love scene" described in detail at the end of this chapter, Kenny and Butters do share a bed again. There is something implied, but that's left up to the reader. This isn't a fetish piece, and nothing more than I ever let my boys and their friends get away with.  
> Also, a bit of gore warning for the nightmare that Kenny has, and the apparitions he sees.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 20  
Christmas Eve, and Other Stories**

*****

“K-Ken? He's not...you know? _Gone_ , is he?” Butters fretted.

Kenny poked Kyle, as Randy and PC Principal got him to the couch to treat him for the faint. “No, he's solid. He's still here. I think he just fainted.”

“What happened, boys?” PC Principal asked.

“I was just getting ready to tell Kyle about my scholarship to Winchester Cathedral, when he fainted, sir!” Trent Boyette explained.

“He seemed quite overwrought about something,” Pip put in, “As if he didn't know who we were?”

“Yes! He was kind of dazed,” Trent agreed, “I didn't even get a chance to invite him to my performance in Denver!”

“Frankly, with what Kyle did to you, Trent, I'm surprised that you'd even go near him?” PC Principal wondered, as they got Kyle's legs elevated and covered him with a blanket. Randy broke open some smelling salts.

“Somebody find Scott Malkinson, and get his diabetes meter in here!” Randy suggested, which made Kenny look sharply at them.

PC Principal was looking ill. Kenny remembered that look from his own aborted future, too. The day he'd collapsed, and Scott and Butters had saved his life with that meter and some glucose tablets.

Scott arrived, and cleaned and jabbed Kyle's finger, just as Kyle was waking up. Kyle didn't seem to feel it. Scott tested Kyle's blood again, his face grim. He checked it a third time.

“He's over 400 mg/dl!” Scott fretted, “It's not a misread. Much higher and he'll be in danger of a stroke!” Scott then pulled out his emergency manual kit, measured a dose of insulin, and shot Kyle up with it.

“Don't look at me!” David exclaimed, “We don't add sugar to our sauces! I didn't know _Kyle_ was diabetic!”

“He was, then he wasn't,” Kenny mumbled.

“What's that?” Clyde asked, as Tweek and Craig came down the hallway at the sound of the commotion.

“Do you remember us tricking Cartman into giving Kyle a kidney, when his diabetes nearly killed him, when we were eight?” Kenny asked the boys.

“No?” All of them answered, looking at Kenny as if he were crazy. Kenny pulled Kyle's shirt up, but there was no scar on his lower back.

 _FUCK! And I thought we'd just lined all this shit out!_ Kenny thought, _How the hell did Trent not getting busted make Kyle diabetic again? Hang on, what cured him to begin with, and gave him back his own two good kidneys?_

“He's at high risk of complications, like kidney failure, or he _was_ ,” Kenny pointed out, looking at Scott. “What do we do?”

“He needs to be in the hospital, and under care of a professional. Or me, until we can find one!” Scott exclaimed.

“Whu-what happ-p-ened?” Kyle muttered, as came around.

“Y-you fainted, K-Kyyyyyle!” Jimmy Valmer informed him.

“Oh, Jesus, this is way to much pressure!” Tweek fretted.

“Tweek, Honey, calm down!” Craig told him, “You get all worked up, you'll have a heart attack! And you won't be able to play the organ tracks for Trent's new CD!”

Kenny and Butters looked around the room. With the exception of Cartman and Token, everyone seemed to be there lending a hand with the house project.

“Someone call his parents, I'm taking him to the ER,” PC Principal said, as he scooped Kyle up in his arms.

“I'm...I'm Oh-kaaaaay,” Kyle protested.

“No, y-you're not!” Jimmy told him, “Unless y-you're impersonating m-m-me again?” He grinned.

“This doesn't make sense,” Scott pointed out, as the principal left with Kyle. “Has he shown any symptoms, like blurry vision, hungry or thirsty all the time, weight loss, fatigue, peeing a lot?”

“No,” Kenny shrugged, “Nothing.”

“Something else changed?” Butters whispered in Kenny's ear.

Kenny nodded, as Scott checked his new insulin pump, and then the reading from his implanted probe. “I'm OK, it's not the food,” Scott pointed out.

“It wasn't your fault, Trent,” Craig Tucker was saying, as he and Tweek and Pip had sat down on the floor with Trent, who was crying.

“What's with him?” Butters wondered, shocked at Trent's behaviour.

“He's prone to it, I'm afraid,” Pip explained, “He gets very emotional. Boys like him often do.”

“Thanks, Pip,” Tweek offered, as they traded places.

“Oh, it's nothing at all, Tweek,” Pip replied, “Trent was thrilled to find a keyboard player as talented as you! You've all been such marvelous friends!”

“I think _I'm_ gonna faint now,” Butters mumbled.

“Me too!” Kenny agreed. “Trent's a big music star, and Pip's his buddy?”

“You leave Pip alone!” Clyde cut in, “If it hadn't been for him, we never would have known that the Queen of England was planning an invasion! Pip stopped the second Revolutionary War from happening!”

“I don't wanna know!” Both Butters and Kenny decided.

“What happened?” Stan asked, as he came in from the garage, “I heard Kyle passed out?”

Randy explained it all to him, as the cameras were still rolling.

“Dad! You can't air my friend fainting on the show!” Stan protested.

Butters pulled Kenny aside. “Ken, I remember Kyle being sick,” Butters told him, “I remember how he got one of Cartman's kidneys! But I also remember he never _had_ problems with diabetes!”

“You're remembering both Timelines, Leo,” Kenny reminded him, “Sorta like Kyle and me only remembering our initial one.”

“I remember Trent wanting to _kill_ me!” Butters exclaimed, “He put me in the hospital once! Now he's crying about Kyle? It was Kyle's idea that got him arrested when we were four!”

“And it was Kyle that saved him,” Kenny corrected him. “Damn! What a life he's got!”

“He's _cas_ trated!” Butters hissed in Kenny's ear, looking confused, “And if I remember right, he's allergic to hormone therapy? That's why that school wants him! His voice can't _ever_ change!”

“C'mon, Trent. Kyle will be OK,” Craig was telling him, as he and Tweek took Trent in hand. “You're just letting your emotions get away from you.”

“I'm sorry,” Trent sniffled, “Just...please don't think I did something to him, for revenge? I know you might think, that since Kyle was the one who -”

“No one thinks that, Trent,” Randy assured him, “It was a long time ago, and it was an accident.”

Trent turned to Stan. “Please tell Kyle I'm sorry?”

“For what?” Stan wondered, patting his shoulder, “It's OK, Trent, you didn't make him sick.”

“It was the look on his face?” Trent nodded, looking around at them all, “He looked at me like, like he was terrified of me? No one's looked at me like that, since nursery school!”

“Right-o, then!” Pip clapped his hands once. “Shall we begin demolition of Kenneth's old room, mates?” He changed the subject.

“I don't feel so good,” Kenny offered, as he leaned his head back. “Stan, you got the stuff?”

“Yeah, we got it all, remember?” Stan replied.

“I think I need to lie down, my leg really hurts,” Kenny lied, as his head was spinning. Randy and some of the other workers got him up on the couch and tucked in. “I think I'll just watch, OK?” _This isn't right! All the guys helping out with Randy's show, in my house? Kyle being sick? Trent being here, and a good kid? And Pip? Fucking PIP is alive?! Not that I want him dead, but...?_

As everyone got back to work, Butters joined Kenny on the couch. “So saving Trent from juvie did all this?”

“Not all of it,” Kenny pointed out. “Mister Marsh was going to work on my house for his show, and they had some of it done. But at this rate, we'll be moved in by Christmas, if Mom's outta rehab by then. I can understand how Trent might have turned good, and made friends. Him singing and going to Liverpool saved Pip, _before_ Mecha-Streisand totaled out the town. Pip wasn't here to get stomped to death. I'd have to ask Scott about diabetes, though.”

“What?” Scott overheard him.

“Scott, how do you get Type-1, like you?” Butters asked.

“No one knows,” Scott shrugged, “Some think it's genetic, and in some cases, it seems to be. But other kids just get it for no reason. Some think it might be related to an entero-virus that attacks the pancreas. Don't worry, though! I'll get him used to it!” Scott promised. “We can be insulin buddies!”

Kenny had to laugh at that, and apologized, explaining himself.

“It _did_ sound kinda dumb,” Scott agreed, “But I'm there for him, guys. You guys, all but Cartman, were always nice to me. It meant a lot,” Scott sniffled, “Until the whole Fighters of Zaron thing, I didn't really have any friends.” Scott sniffled.

“Is Craig the only one in control of his emotions now?” Butters wondered.

“You mean you don't know?” Scott gasped.

“About Craig?” Clyde added, as he came by with wallpaper for the hallway. It looked just like the wallpaper in his own house. “You didn't know?”

“Know what?” Kenny fretted. _Oh no, what did we do to Craig this time?_

“When Tweek was diagnosed with a heart murmur?” Clyde reminded them, “And he had to have all those tests? Craig had a really bad panic attack, and he nearly had a stroke! He was in the hospital for a week, right alongside Tweek!”

Kenny broke out in goosebumps at the mention of the word “stroke”.

“Craig? Tucker? A panic attack?” Kenny wondered.

“Yeah, but it's like, so long as him and Tweek are together, they're fine?” Clyde shrugged. “The doctors don't understand it.”

“They're in love,” Butters shrugged, taking Kenny's hand. “Being together cuts the stress down.”

“I guess so,” Clyde sighed, as he took his wallpaper on over to start hanging it.

“What's wrong Clyde?” Kenny asked, as if sensing it. As if Clyde's sigh wasn't enough itself.

“Th-this is all v-very interesting,” Jimmy observed, “It seems that y-you two d-don't know wh-where you are, or s-somethiiiiing?”

“Pain pills make me foggy,” Kenny lied, which wasn't really a lie. “That, and constipated,” he joked. “I just can't believe how everybody's here, helping?”

Jimmy smiled, then excused himself to help with ripping up Kenny's room.

“His legs look a lot better?” Butters pointed out. “So, what are we gonna do now?”

“We wait,” Kenny decided. “I know it's kinda selfish, but I think we should just wait.”

“We had to do that, for Trent,” Butters nodded, “You were right. They'd have come after us, and what we did to him was just...evil.” He shook his head. “This is really weird, having two sets of memories?”

“Try having so many, you don't know if you're coming or going,” Kenny sighed. “I just hope that nothing else has changed, for the worse!”

From down the hallway, the sounds of demolition were getting loud. It sounded like the boys were having a good time, tearing out walls and flooring. Kenny just sat and listened to it, as Butters finally gave in and hobbled on down the hall to help.

When Craig came in to get drinks for his crew, Kenny asked him about his car. After all, it didn't help to hope that that might have changed, too.

“Well, we haven't decided on a new carb yet, since the factory one's a piece of shit,” Craig explained, “And the new tires are ordered. I guess Dad's making Mrs. Cartman pay for it, but I said used tires were fine, since we can't drive it yet. Corvette parts ain't cheap!”

Kenny's heart sank. _Shit, he's still got that damn car!_

“Tweek's getting to be a pretty good mechanic, too, but I don't want him hurting his hands,” Craig added quickly, “Trent thinks he's got a really good chance at getting a music scholarship, and maybe even getting in with the Philharmonic someday.”

“You OK?” Kenny asked.

“I'm fine,” Craig replied, although Kenny knew that Craig would have said that, even if he'd just lost a limb.

“Craig?” Kenny pressed him.

“I'm OK, really,” Craig repeated, “Thanks.”

“Thanks for coming,” Kenny offered.

“No problem, Dude. Once that leg's better, we'll start on the bike project. Not like we can drive for another four years!” Craig smiled.

Kenny sighed and laid back, closing his eyes. _Four years. Surely I can get it right this time!_

 _That was when you knew what was going to happen,_ The Other spoke up, _Now it's all changed. Before, you had one wildcard. Now you have a deck of all jokers!_

*

Kyle Broflovski was hospitalized for the remainder of the Hanukkah festival. Every night, his family visited, and they opened gifts there. This included Kenny and Butters as well, and Kenny was nearly overcome with getting a gift each night. He even received a new pair of boots on the last night.

“You didn't have to do this,” Kenny told Kyle, as they prepared to leave on that last night of the celebration.

“We should have done it sooner,” Kyle replied.

“You feeling OK?” Butters asked.

“I feel like I've done this before, sort of, but I've got a whole new respect for Scott now!” Kyle exclaimed, “This fucking sucks! My fingers are sore as hell!”

“Use the back, just below the nail,” Scott suggested, as he came in the room. “How's the new diet going?”

“A lot of vegetables, not roots,” Kyle sighed, “God, I want cheesecake!”

“Make it with heavy cream, cream cheese, lemon juice, and Splenda,” Scott suggested, “And fresh berries. Lower carbs, less insulin. No crust.”

“No more high carb stuff, like buns, or pizza crust,” Scott shrugged, “You'll have to learn to cook alternates.”

“KFC?” Kyle fretted.

“Peel off the skin, and no potatoes or biscuits,” Scott said, as Kyle gaped at him in shock. “I know, I _know_!” He added, “I miss it, too!”

“Cartman would freak out!” Butters laughed.

“I bet he's not getting any KFC in jail!” Scott laughed, as they all did.

“Don't feel bad, he got what he deserved,” Kenny told them, “He's done worse. And in my other, uhm, experiences?” He winked at Butters and Kyle, “He did a LOT worse!”

*

 _'Does that include not spraying my boyfriend's brains all over the highway_?' Kenny remembered Cartman's words in that other aborted future.

“ _Mrs. Cartman?” The voice of PC Principal snapped Kenny out of it, “I need you to come and pick up Eric. What? Well, yes, he's hurt. I'm afraid he's been expelled. Yes, Mrs. Cartman. He attacked Craig Tucker in the cafeteria. Yes. No, there's about a hundred witnesses. A few of the other students stopped him and it got a little rowdy. Yes. He'll be sitting on the curb, waiting. And if he sets foot in my school again, I'll have him arrested! I'm sorry.” He slammed the phone down._

“ _God damned Jew,” Cartman muttered, “It's not my fault that Craig drives like an idiot, and ended up scattering his boyfriend's brains all over Route 285!” He laughed, a cold and almost maniacal laugh. PC Principal just stared at him in shock._

“ _And you just had to say it, didn't you?” Kyle spoke up, “You just couldn't wait to see what Craig would do, when you got to be the one who told him that Tweek was dead, and that he was responsible for it?”_

“ _CRAIG_ IS _RESPONSIBLE!” Cartman yelled back, “And he doesn't remember?” He laughed again, “My fuckin' ass he doesn't! He knows what he did! He's just playing all innocent so no one will blame him! Craig's always been a dick, but when he got that car, he really was! Rubbing it in everyone's face, walking around with his stupid rainbow flag shit, and him and Tweek all like...”_

“ _You're the one who cut his tires that first time, aren't you?” Kenny spoke up, “And probably the last two times too?”_

_*_

“He's a bad seed,” Kyle nodded, “Lately, I've gotten to the point where I was...I _am_...scared of him. Of what he might do. Honestly!”

“I think we all are,” Butters agreed.

“Scott, this is gonna sound really weird, but tell us all about school, and everyone, OK?” Kenny asked. “I hate to put it all on Butters, and with the meds, and now Kyle's sick, you know?”

“Memory loss isn't uncommon,” Scott stated clinically, “What would you like to know?”

And so the boys talked until visiting hours were over. Other than Trent and Pip, nothing else too shocking seemed to have happened. Nurse Christina came in every two hours to check Kyle's blood sugar, which was hovering about 100 mg/dl.

“I just can't get rid of you, can I?” She joked.

“I hope you do,” Kenny fretted, as they all got ready to go. “Are you OK with this, Kyle? The changes, I mean?”

“I did it to myself,” Kyle sighed, “And with Scott's help, I can cope with this. It's worth it, to have Trent and Pip both get a chance at having a life.” Kyle sighed again. “ _Why_ were we so mean to him, Kenny? What did he ever do to us? Pip, I mean?”

“Pecking order,” Kenny shrugged. “I know how it felt. I can't say I'll miss Cartman, though?”

Kyle didn't immediately reply.

“I guess they wanna do Christmas at my house, sort of a 'welcome home' party, and the big wrap-up episode,” Kenny told him, on the way out. “I hope you come?”

“I wouldn't miss it!” Kyle smiled, as he yawned and snuggled down into his bed.

*

The hallways of South Park High School were dark and quiet as Kenny McCormick topped the stairs of the front entrance. Moonlight shone through the many windows, casting gray rectangles on the floor, and plunging the rest into deep shadow. The hardwood floors creaked and popped under his new boots, and Kenny had the distinct feeling that he was not alone. As he turned to his left to go to his locker, he saw the colored lights of the Christmas tree that had been set up at the very edge of the entryway. Half of the lights were out, some were flickering, and broken ornaments littered the floor.

The Christmas tree was dead, a scattering of needles all over the floor as well.

“This is either a nightmare, or the other dimension,” Kenny whispered, and even that small sound echoed down the deserted corridors. Realizing the place for what it was, Kenny went to his locker and opened it. A skeleton greeted him. “Big surprise,” Kenny snorted, taking out his Algebra II book. But the book crumbled to dust in his hand. He remembered all the times he'd watched come back to school on that repeating first day.

Something squeaked in the distance, and Kenny snapped his head to the right.

“Informed consent!” An old, dusty voice wheezed, as an old man in an electric wheelchair rolled out of the Principal's office. He looked at Kenny, and then vanished.

“The fuck is this?” Kenny asked himself, as he seldom had dreams like this. “This isn't real. There wouldn't be a Christmas tree in the school, and I'm too short!”

In the distance, someone was crying.

Following the sound, Kenny went two doors down to the library. The door squeaked, which didn't surprise him, and Kenny saw someone sitting at the first table. In the dim light, he could just make out the reflections of the metallic silver material on the bowed head. But Kenny didn't need to see the shiny material that had long since replaced the aluminum foil. He knew that cry. He'd heard it too many times before.

“Leo?” Kenny asked, as the figure raised its head to look at him.

If it were Butters Stotch in his Chaos persona, Kenny wouldn't have recognized him. The young man's left eye was gone, leaving a gaping black socket that oozed blood, dripping black in the shadows like unholy tears. He was dirty and emaciated, and when he spoke, his voice rasped in a tone that made Kenny's flesh crawl.

“You left me here, Ken! I _trusted_ you, and you left me here alone!”

“You're a dream,” Kenny told him flatly, pulling his hand back, as Professor Chaos vanished.

“Kenny?” Kyle asked from behind him, and Kenny spun around with a gasp. Dream or not, the atmosphere of the place was beginning to get to him.

“Kyle?” Kenny wondered, “Or some other aspect of my mind, then?”

Kyle Broflovski was thin, his skin a ghastly white in the moonlight as he passed near a window. Most of his wonderfully thick, red, curly hair was gone as well. He sat down at the table where Butters had vanished. “It's been too long, Kenny,” Kyle told him, “I've been on the transplant list for too long, and now it's too late.”

“You're not Kyle.”

“You made me leap back, and it killed me,” Kyle told him.

“No. Scott Malkinson will help the real Kyle,” Kenny told the apparition, which then vanished as well.

“Kenny?” Clyde's voice called from the corridor, “Are you in there, Kenny?” The door squeaked, and dream or not, Kenny flinched back at the sight of Clyde. His face was puffy, and he'd gained a great deal of weight. He was bald, and it looked as if it hurt him to walk. “They thought they had it all, Kenny,” Clyde told him, “But it came back. They took out my other testicle, and my colon. Then it spread to my bladder. I wanted to give Kyle a kidney, but I only had one that was working.”

“Clyde Donovan is fine now,” Kenny told the specter, which vanished as well.

“K-Kenny?” Craig Tucker's unmistakable voice then asked.

And Kenny knew what he'd see before he turned around.

The boy in the yellow poofball hat rolled in, using a wheelchair much like Jimmy's. He didn't look good, but he looked the best of all of them so far. On the left side of the chair was a pad, which spoke in a voice much like Professor Stephen Hawking's when Craig used it.

“Why didn't anyone tell me, Kenny?” Craig asked via the pad. “I loved him, Kenny! I loved him more than anything, and I killed him! I killed him, and no one told me!” Craig pecked at the pad with his left hand. Then he bowed his head and wept. Kenny then saw his left hand moving again, and as Phantom-Craig drew a gun from his pack, and placed it to his head, Kenny stepped back.

“This won't happen again!” Kenny declared, as Craig put the gun to his head and pulled trigger, vanishing into a puff of dust.

Apparition or not, the sound of the gunshot echoed through the dark school, louder and louder, blowing out windows, and forcing Kenny to cover his ears.

“All right, who the fuck is next?” Kenny shouted.

“Me,” Korx answered, “And I'm no phantom! I'm as real here as you are, Kenny!”

“You did this!” Kenny accused him, “Why?”

“Don't like it, _do_ you?” Korx asked, “Don't like seeing all your friends die? How about having them simply not exist instead?”

“What the _hell_ do you mean?” Kenny snapped, “If you've got time travel abilities, and some kind of discriminator that Kevin Stoley thought up, then why's that a problem for you and your people? You're a thousand years more advanced than we are!” Kenny flinched as a mop then appeared in his hand. He threw it down as if it were a live snake. _A metaphor for cleaning up, then?_

“You're trying so hard, and you've almost solved it, Kenny,” Korx told him. “I have to admit, saving Trent Boyette from himself was a stroke of genius! Pity about the six kids he would have had, and the twenty-some grandkids. Not to mention all the greats, on up the Timeline. Luckily, _I'm_ not one of them, seeing as how Kyle wiped out a few thousand offspring when he kicked Trent in the balls!”

“Last night, the statue at Tweek's grave was still there,” Kenny told Korx. “If you're so damn concerned, why don't _you_ help?”

“But I _am_ helping, Kenny!” Korx waved his arms over his head, turning in a slow pirouette, “And _**I**_ didn't do all this! YOU did!” Korx smiled. “Well, Kyle helped. I can't believe you let him do it.”

“It was the only way to save Trent,” Kenny pointed out.

“But it might end up killing Kyle?” Korx scoffed, “And after he ended up _not_ having to get Cartman's kidney, here you go again?

“Kyle's willing to take that risk, with Scott's help,” Kenny pointed out. “I don't suppose you'd be kind enough to send back a cure for Type-1?”

“No, they'll find it in about twenty more years,” Korx informed him, “Your time.”

“So why are we here?” Kenny asked.

“I don't know, Kenny. _You_ brought us here,” Korx reminded him.

“It was _you_ ,” Kenny realized, “ _You_ mounted the crystal in Timmy's wheelchair! Those two geeks next door to Kyle didn't discover a way to time travel! _You_ planted the crystal, to make their invention work!”

“Very good!” Korx smiled, “You primitives aren't as dumb as you look!”

“When Timmy broke the time barrier, he set off ripples,” Kenny theorized, “And those ripples changed things! It might even be part of why no one ever remembers all these resets in South Park! They were what messed up Kyle – he was sick, then he wasn't, now he is – again!”

“Your whole fucking _town_ is a temporal anomaly!” Korx reminded him, “How many years were you guys stuck in the fourth grade? How many presidents did you see come and go? Hell, even PC Principal pointed it out! Why do think we chose South Park to come back to, the first time?”

“Because time is weaker here?” Kenny wondered, “It was easier for that first guy from your time to tear through it, here?”

Korx nodded. “Presidents Clinton, Bush twice, Obama twice, Garrison, and now Jenner,” Korx grinned, “And no one even noticed, how time keeps looping here?”

“ _That_ loop apparently broke,” Kenny pointed out, “As we made it to high school!”

“After twenty-some years, external relative time!” Korx held out his hands. “I have to give you one thing, though, you're a better man than I.”

“Why?” Kenny asked pointedly.

“Because _ **I**_ wouldn't have done all that you did. I would have cut to the focal point in time, altered it, and let the chips fall!” Korx sneered, “I wouldn't have spent all that time trying to save _everyone_!”

“You're apparently trying to save _someone_!” Kenny retorted, “Why else would you have come back to give Tweek something? It wasn't just for donuts, Korx. You gave Tweek something important, and Kyle thinks it has to do with some rare element! Probably the same element that's attached to Timmy's wheelchair!”

“Kyle doesn't know as much as he thinks he does,” Korx countered.

“Kyle knows whatever he pulled out of your head,” Kenny reminded him.

Korx glared at him. “I don't like Kyle,” he informed Kenny, his voice flat. “That's why _his_ kind, when they're found, are _destroyed_!”

Kenny grinned wickedly at him. “You're just pissed, because your mind wasn't strong enough to keep him out!” Kenny then laughed, “Kyle's onto the Melting Clock thing, and we'll find out what it is, in _time_! He also thinks that thing you gave Tweek has something to do with it!”

“I could just get rid of Tweek early,” Korx shrugged, “He's already had a heart attack and died at age twelve, which Kyle undid. Bravo on that one, by the way.”

“And if you do, I'll just undo it again!” Kenny countered. “Or Kyle will!”

“I could just get rid of _you_?” Korx suggested.

“Good luck with _that_!” Kenny laughed, as he suddenly realized that Korx didn't know.

Korx didn't know that Kenny was immortal!

 _Wait, I thought he did? Maybe_ that _changed, too_? Kenny thought. _If so, so much the better!_

“I'll stalemate you for all eternity!” Kenny then challenged him. “So why don't you make it easy for the both of us, and tell me what you want?”

“You still don't get it, do you?” Korx shook his head. “Why one of us would go back, to before we even came back the first time, to plant a device that would enable time travel?”

“Someone else is using it, then?” Kenny gasped.

“ **No** , you idiot!” Korx laughed again, “That stuff was all confiscated, then one our operatives went in and destroyed it, before you savages could reverse-engineer it!”

“That's a relief,” Kenny sighed.

“Isn't it?” Korx agreed, “But no, Kenny, it's really nothing so nefarious. Our time was such a mess, that we wanted to come back to a nicer place and time. Who could blame us? It's not so bad now, now that you all know about it, but it's still no Garden of Eden.” Korx walked around the room again, his onesie white in the moonlight, almost glowing.

“You didn't want to _come_ back. You were sending select people back to work, and save up money, making interest,” Kenny reminded him. “And it wasn't about making things better. We tried that, and it made you all vanish!”

Then it hit him.

“You're planning an invasion!” Kenny breathed, snapping his fingers. “The whole thing with Timmy's wheelchair was just the first step in your...temporal reconnaissance? You don't trust history!” Kenny began to pace. “When that first guy's plan to leave his family and come and work here succeeded, someone got the idea to just invade! You'd not have wiped yourselves out of existence, due to the Oscillation Theory! And something in _my_ time is keeping you from doing it! _You're_ the only one coming back, so far, that we know of. It's like having to use a child to do something, because...because...” Kenny's mind raced. “For some reason, you can't send anyone _else_ back now!” He snapped his fingers. “It's like trying to shove a crowd through an admissions turnstile – they just won't fit all at once!”

“Very good!” Korx congratulated him, “And I can't say that you're making our job any easier, but at least you're not making it all that more difficult.”

“You're lying!” Kenny accused him, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up to his face.

“Am I?”

“I know a lie when I hear it!” Kenny told him, “I've been lied to all my life!”

“So shall we dance, then, Kenneth?” Korx asked in a mocking formal tone, “May I have this dance, for all eternity?”

“That's up to you!” Kenny replied coldly, “Because _eternity_ is exactly what I have! Between me and Kyle, we'll simply outlast you!”

“Kyle isn't immortal,” Korx told him, making Kenny wonder if he knew.

_Then again, if I don't die, and I truly am Immortal, then I must exist a thousand years from now! If I'm truly an Abomination, or a Horror, then thousands of years from now, there's a Kenny that's remembering all of this!_

“And neither are you!” Kenny smiled wickedly, “And _you're_ lying again! You know as well as anyone, what Kyle is, and what he can do! All he has to do is leap back to when he was younger, and he'll live forever!”

“You should kill him now, when you wake up,” Korx said, shaking himself loose, “You have no idea what kind of dangerous creature Kyle Broflovski is!”

“Fuck you!” Kenny turned his back to go. He reached for the doorknob, but the building creaked.

“It's a house of cards, Kenny, you know that!” Korx told him, as a small section of ceiling fell in behind him. “A good sneeze could knock it down!”

The sounds of creaking intensified as Kenny stepped through the door and into the hallway. They grew louder and louder, until finally, Kenny began to hear the sounds of splitting timbers and crumbling brick and mortar. The building trembled, and the floor buckled between them. Lights came on, the bulbs exploded, and water pipes began bursting.

“Run, Kenny!” Korx advised him, as he began to laugh again, “Run, while you still can!”

Kenny bolted for the main door as the north wall of the corridor fell in. Books fell from the shelves, and lockers toppled over. The floor hove up into a V-shape, and Kenny jumped as wood planks split and the other walls began to crack. He dared look back once, seeing the school collapsing behind him, and only by a few yards. The floor just behind him was collapsing into the lower floor, which would eventually fall down into the basement level.

He barely reached the short set of stairs to the front doors in time to escape, tumbling down the front steps and out onto the lawn as South Park High School – or rather, the apparition of it – collapsed into dust.

Once again, Kenny McCormick woke up in his bed in Kyle's guest room.

But this time, he didn't scream.

 _Korx would cut to the focal point? What if he_ _ **already**_ _did? And why is that point Tweek_? Kenny thought angrily, as he began to formulate a new hypothesis: _Everyone who's died, or been wiped out of existence, is either alive or back. Except for Tweek in the future._

“Ken?” Butters mumbled, not really awake.

“Go back to sleep, Leo, it's OK,” Kenny kissed his cheek, straightening the blankets, and cuddling up tighter with Butters. Kenny would sleep no more that night, though, as his mind raced through the many scenarios that he remembered, pertaining to how the future would unfold. Still, he knew that he was in uncharted waters. Nothing was unfolding as it had in any possible future that Kenny had lived through.

*

As predicted, Kenny's house was finished just in time for Christmas. The fact that no one was talking about it, and trying to keep him entertained and otherwise distracted, were obvious clues that a surprise party was being planned. The Broflovskis' insistence that they go out to eat only confirmed Kenny's suspicions. After all, it was Christmas Eve, and the only place open would be City Wok. Cars parked along the cul de sacs that led into _**Sodosopa**_ also had Butters convinced.

Still, Kenny played along as Kyle pushed him up the new sidewalk in the loaned manual wheelchair. After all, Kenny reasoned, a lot of people had gone out of their way for him.

“Uhm, looks like they didn't get the lights on yet,” Butters pointed out, as he hobbled along on his crutches.

“I just don't understand?” Sheila said, sounding totally unconvincing.

As Kyle opened the unlocked front door (another clue) and pushed Kenny in, the lights snapped on to a great cry of, “SURPRISE!” and much applause.

The house was packed, and nearly everyone Kenny knew was there. A ceiling-high, full Christmas tree stood fully decorated in the far corner of the family room, visible through the new and large archway that connected it to the open-concept kitchen-dining room. There were even presents; something else new to Kenny.

“Oh, watch the rib, Sis!” Kenny groaned, as Karen emerged from the crowd to hug him.

“So what do you think, little brother?” Kevin McCormick asked.

Honestly, Kenny wasn't sure what to think. His cynicism had suddenly left him, replaced by a sense of wonder. All the people, the Christmas decorations, the presents, the food, and the overall atmosphere had taken him quite by surprise.

“I guess it worked after all?” Kyle asked.

'This is _all_ for us?” Kenny wondered, having no memory of anything like this having ever happened before.

“Ain't it something?” Karen exclaimed, as Mrs. Tucker was hovering near her, along with Tricia, who was holding a cat carrier.

“I don't mean to push, Kenneth,” Mrs. Tucker said, “But we'd like you to have your pets back now?”

“My rats!” Kenny gasped.

“And you've got a big, homemade Habitrail-kinda thing set up for them, in your room, and through the wall, to the utility room,” Stan cut in, “It was Butters' idea, since the whole neighborhood has got traps and poison baits out now.”

“You're movin' up in the world, guys!” Kevin said to his rats, taking the pet carrier. “I'll just go let them get used to it, OK?”

“Kenny?” Carol McCormick then asked, emerging from the crowd.

“Uh, hi, Mom,” Kenny just managed, again taken by surprise. “You're...here?”

“Supervised,” Carol admitted, “It's Christmas, after all.”

“So then, you're going back?” Kenny asked, finding himself unable, unexpectedly, to be angry with her.

Carol nodded, looking down at the glass of sparkling cider she held.

Kenny was aware that everyone had gone quiet, and was watching as the tension built. “Well, until then?” He offered, which sent an obvious sigh of relief through the rooms. “Merry Christmas, I guess?”

Carol looked up at him again, and she managed a wan smile. _It's a start,_ Kenny thought, remembering how, in that other aborted future, he'd waited until he'd been in high school to confront his mother about his inability to die. _Tonight isn't the time!_ Still, a slight hug and peck on the cheek was the most of a display of affection. It was more than Kenny had expected.

“So, uhh, who's paying for all this?” Kenny had to ask, as the stream of well-wishers finally began to dwindle.

“Well, you remember the creepy guy from Facebook?” Detective Yates asked, as he shook Kenny's hand, surprising him.

“How could I forget? He tried to kill me!” Kenny reminded him.

“Indeed,” Yates agreed, “Although I thought, from their testimonies, that he tried to kill Mysterion?” Yates paused. “Be that as it may, Kenny, it seems that one Mr. George Brown, AKA Facebook-Guy, that was his name, had made quite a bit in the meth trade. After Mr. Broflovski sued him, and we plea bargained a bit, it seems there was enough money to cover all this!” Yates waved a hand about.

“Well, that and a few donations,” PC Principal added, handing Kenny a plate. “I took the liberty of making you a well-balanced meal, Ken. I know you tend to not eat right!” He then spotted Butters, who was chatting with Kyle and Stan. “Excuse me!” The Principal then took Butters aside.

Kenny looked around, and saw little Aaron Hagen with Tricia and Karen. His mother was chatting with Sheila, and to Kenny's surprise, he saw Dr. Norris with Mrs. Stotch approaching PC Principal and Strong Woman.

“Looks like you've got a haul!” Craig Tucker pointed out, coming up behind Kenny.

“I...I've already had eight nights of Hanukkah with Kyle,” Kenny reminded them.

“You can never have too many presents!” Tweek added. “Craig asked for car parts,” he rolled his eyes.

“You know, there's an old HEI Super High Output coil pack in the garage somewhere, new in the box,” Kenny remembered, feeling a slight chill. He remembered the night he'd watched Craig, the first time he'd started the Corvette with that very coil.

“I know,” Craig snickered that funny little laugh of his that was so seldom heard, “We hauled that big, rusty station wagon of yours to my back yard. Your mom gave it to us! Can you imagine the vacuum booster on that land sled, for the brakes?” Craig seemed almost in a state of bliss, “And the _power steering_ pump?”

“We're already rebuilding that,” Tweek sighed.

“If I could have your attention, please?” Randy Marsh was tapping his glass with a butter knife.

Kenny wasn't really paying any attention to Randy, though, or the cameraman who was trying to be discrete in the far corner.

“Don't worry, there's no alcohol here,” Stan told Kenny, as his friends began to cluster around and behind him.

Randy and his cameraman were interviewing Carol, who seemed quite embarrassed by the whole thing. Kevin moved in to take over, and Karen joined him. Then the cameras panned over to Kenny, and Randy asked him what he thought.

 _Well, it's been a miserable twelve years so far,_ Kenny thought, but he didn't say it. He was still feeling overwhelmed, and Stan and Kyle and a few of the others quickly began prompting him. “Well, you know, uhm, it's great!” Kenny managed, sounding a great deal like Butters.

“Randy,” Sharon finally cut him off, “Let the poor boy eat, and see the rest of his house!”

“So, who's staying here?” Kenny asked Kevin, as things settled down and everyone began filling plates. Kenny noted that Scott Malkinson had taken Kyle in hand, and was supervising what Kyle put on his plate. After factoring the carb count, Scott supervised Kyle injecting his insulin, which nearly made Clyde faint.

“Me and the Principal have been,” Kevin answered, “But I guess he's moving into Butters' place? Mom's going back to rehab, day after tomorrow. So, you wanna stay the night?” Kevin then asked, “Your room's all ready!”

“I guess that's up to Mister Broflovski,” Kenny shrugged, looking around. He saw that Butters was still talking to PC Principal and his wife, along with young Aaron Hagen. Butters and his mother were both nodding, and Mrs. Stotch looked very relieved. _I wonder how often I'll see him, if they become his foster parents? I wonder how his mom will react, finding out he's gay?_

 _She was fine with it, the last time,_ The Other reminded Kenny, _And last time, Mom didn't care, either._

“Are you gonna eat that food, or just stare at it all night?” Clyde asked, shaking Kenny out of it.

“There's a whole b-buffet over there!” Jimmy pointed out.

“Token said he was going to call, on Facetime,” Jason White reminded them, glancing at Kyle, who'd scooted over at the large dining room table to make room for Francis and Douglas. Trent Boyette soon joined them, along with Dog Poo Petruski.

“Ah! The dirty-work squad!” Stan smiled.

“It's what I do best!” Dog Poo smiled, looking surprisingly clean for once.

“Is all that Kosher?” Francis asked.

“I hope so,” Kyle shrugged, spearing a cream cheese-stuffed meat and cheese roll. He bit into it, then paused.

“Something wrong?” Francis wondered.

“I just had the worst case déjà vu?” Kyle replied.

“Eat it, before the insulin knocks you over,” Scott warned him.

“Insulin?” Douglas wondered, “You're not diabetic, are you, Kyle?”

“Yeah, I spent the last night of Hanukkah in the hospital, Scott's coaching me,” Kyle answered.

“I thought you were always diabetic?” Francis commented, “You almost died in third grade, didn't you?”

The boys all looked at one another, confused.

“Some of them remember the old timeline,” Kenny whispered to Kyle.

“Must be that oscillation thing?” Kyle whispered back, as he explained it all again. Clyde and Trent were snickering about something as he did.

“I thought Cartman was the only one rude enough to make fun of diabetes?” Scott called them on it.

“It's not that!” Clyde snorted, as he and Trent elbowed one another.

Scott seemed to get it at once. “Toes, or feet, or even a leg, aren't the _only_ things you can lose to poor circulation, you know,” Scott began to explain, but Kenny got it, too, and stopped him! Then it slowly began to dawn on them. After all, everyone knew about Trent's condition.

When everyone had finished eating, Randy did his closing scene for the show, which was everyone settling in to open presents. As it was Christmas Eve, and everyone had their own families, many of the guests took their leave. Only Kenny's closest friends stayed, along with their parents, PC Principal, and Strong Woman. Kenny saw that Dr. Norris was chatting with Carol at the door, and Kenny was surprised to see him leave.

“Boy, am I glad he's gone,” Tweek sighed in relief.

“Yeah, he's kind of a dick,” Craig nodded.

“Speaking of, I wonder how Cartman's doing?” Stan asked, smirking.

“Who cares?” Kyle shrugged, as he handed Kenny a present.

“All this stuff's for me?” Kenny wondered, as the eight gifts of Hanukkah that he'd already received from Kyle and his family were more Christmas than he'd seen in about eight years before.

“Well, some of it's for me and Karen,” Kevin noted, as he and Karen were dividing up the packages.

“Only you could be happy with thermal socks,” Craig rolled his eyes, as Kenny opened Tweek's gift. It was a package of boys' underpants in different colors, and a large rat trap with a sticker of a Gnome on it! The boys laughed.

Kenny also received a new coat, identical to his usual orange one. He laughed, then had to explain it. “This one time, back in second grade, a crate of these coats fell off a truck, and Dad found it. That's why I've had an orange parka, ever since!”

“You know, I always wondered about that?” Stan nodded, “Kinda like Kyle and that green hat?”

“They were closeout, and I got the whole lot,” Kyle confessed, “They were like two dollars each!”

“Don't tell Cartman, he'll have a heyday with that one!” Clyde commented.

“Fuck Cartman,” Kyle snorted.

“Not in this lifetime,” Craig made a face, then punched Clyde's upper arm.

“OWWW! What was that for?” Clyde gasped.

“Just to head off you saying something stupid,” Craig explained, smirking.

Kenny's best gift turned out to be a laptop. Although it was a refurbished unit, and not all that powerful, it was good enough for streaming video and playing discs or movie files.

“I had some money held back at Olive Garden,” Carol told him, “Your dad didn't know about it, he just thought it was a pay cut. Then there was some money left from the settlement.” She smiled, as Karen opened a new tablet, and Kevin a desktop PC. “Wish I could have afforded new, though.”

“It's great, Mom!” Kenny told her, “Thank you!”

“Thank that Mysterion kid fer gettin' rid of that piece of shi-” Carol caught herself. “Never mind!”

“Gimme that,” Craig took the laptop, “Ten's a bitch to set up, and I've done it before!”

“What's this?” Kenny wondered, as he opened a CD and stared at the cover. It was an image of a young boy standing in front of a brightly lit Christmas tree in the snow. He wore a red robe, and the image had a warm tone to it.

“Oh! Th-that's Trent's C-Christmas album!” Jimmy observed.

“Uhhh, OK?” Kenny and Kyle exchanged glances.

“You should hear him sing 'O, Holy Night'! That long, high note's a killer, man!” Tweek pointed out.

“So you're doing the keyboards for the next one, then?” Kyle wondered, and Tweek nodded.

The boys talked about this and that for a while, but the conversations seemed to carefully steer clear of Kenny's advanced knowledge of not only the boys, but of things to come. Eventually, as it was getting somewhat late, parents began suggesting that they go home for their own Christmas Eve celebrations.

Tweek and Craig left with the rest of the Tuckers, and the boys were all anxious to hear what their gifts to one another would be. Namely, what it was that Tweek was hiding in his safe!

When almost everyone had gone, Linda Stotch prepared to leave with Strong Woman.

“I think it's been a good first day back,” Strong Woman congratulated her.

“Well, uhm, at least she didn't paint my face green, and try to kill me again!” Butters whispered to Kenny, once the ladies were gone, and the Marsh and Broflovski families had taken their leaves as well. “Oh, I guess I'm staying, too?”

“All right, listen up!” PC Principal told the rest of them, “Kevin and I will be staying here with Carol, as will my wife, when she gets back from dropping Linda off. I know that Kenny and Karen are probably anxious to try out their new rooms, and we'll be in the guest room with Aaron, if there's a problem.”

“We have a guest room?” Kenny raised his eyebrows, having forgotten that the Strongly Principled Couple now had custody of Aaron.

“We split my old room in two, and moved a wall,” Kevin explained, so that we all have our own rooms. Got the lumber and stuff from that 'Bi the Garage' place they tore down. It was free,” he shrugged. “If you guys needs any help with anything, let me know, OK?”

 _This is not the brother I remember,_ Kenny thought, although he wasn't complaining. “It is bigger than I remember?” Kenny pointed out, yawning, and realizing that he'd not even seen his renovated room yet.

“I think you need to think about bed,” PC Principal told him, “We'll clean up in here.”

As Butters pushed Kenny through the door to his room, both boys gasped. The floor was polished hardwood, and a large purple area rug was spread in the center. The walls were black, in contrast to the white stucco ceiling where recessed fluorescent lights shone down brightly. There was a walk-in closet, as well as a new double bed trimmed in emerald, a deep green love seat on the opposite side of the room, and a desk with a TV. A large two-section sliding window was at the double bed, and the door had its own heavy duty deadbolt lock. The curtains were black as well. Kenny noticed that all of the things he'd had were still there, but clean. Posters and such that had been on his wall were now framed, hanging in the same spots. And of course, the safe habitat for his rats.

“They really went all out!” Butters gasped.

“Stan's amazing with tools,” Kenny nodded, rolling over to the closet. Using the manual chair made his rib ache, but not too much if he took it easy.

“Go look in the closet,” the rough voice of Mysterion then said, as the boys gasped to see the superhero sitting in the open window. “Stan thought you'd like the black, purple, and green décor! I think you'll like the closet better!”

In the closet, which was large enough to accommodate his wheelchair, Kenny found a lever in the far back corner.

“Pull it,” Mysterion suggested, and as Kenny did that, he felt the floor begin to lower.

It wasn't a long ride, but when the floor stopped, Kenny found himself in a room under his bedroom. Lights snapped on as the floor stabilized, and Kenny saw all of his Mysterion costumes and his gear all hanging up, as if waiting for their master's return. There was a map of South Park on the far wall, extending over to the other wall in a continuation of the map of Colorado. There was even a workstation with a computer. Kenny rolled over and read the note taped to it:

**Cartman isn't going to need this for a while, and you won't believe this shit! It's a really good computer, too, the spoiled fatass! Wait until you see some of the software he's got on here! He must have grabbed some discs from the cops when he was The Coon, or something. The printer is photograde, too! Also swiped some of his other stuff. Enjoy. - Toolshed**

“Unbelievable!” Kenny breathed, as Butters peered down the short shaft. “So this is what Dog Poo and the others were digging up!”

“There's also a fire pole and rung ladder, in case of power outage,” Mysterion informed them.

“So, you patrolling tonight?” Kenny called up the shaft.

“Jews don't observe Christmas Eve,” Mysterion grinned, his mouth the only part of him visible beneath the revised mask.

“Now Professor Chaos knows of your hideout!” Butters laughed.

“I don't think he's gonna be a problem, is he?” Kenny asked, as he rode back up.

“Nah, he's OK with it,” Butters smiled back.

“Kyle?” Kenny looked around, but Mysterion was gone.

Kenny closed the closet door, and the boys decided to go to bed. On impulse, Kenny put Trent's CD into his new laptop and connected the speakers on the desk. As Butters helped Kenny get undressed, the music played. Trent's voice was high and clear, almost ethereal, Kenny thought. There were no modern songs like 'Frosty' or 'Rudolph', but instead, the CD consisted of longer, classical hymns – some of which Kenny had never heard of before. As he and Butters brushed their teeth, 'The Wexford Carol' played. 'What Child is This' followed, and Kenny couldn't help but be struck by the words.

 _Indeed, what child IS this_? He thought, as he hopped out of the chair on his good leg to sit on the bed.

“Oh! New flannel PJ'S!” Butters exclaimed, as he looked in the refinished old dresser. “Hey! These have the button-up butt!” Butters laughed.

“I don't think I'm in the mood for PJ's, the heat's good in here,” Kenny smiled at him. “You want the side of the bed next to the wall?”

“Yeah,” Butters smiled back, as he propped Kenny's broken leg with a pillow and the boys got comfortable under the emerald comforter.

There was a tap at the door.

“Come in?”

“Oh! I see you don't need any help?” PC Principal observed, grinning. For a moment, Kenny almost expected him to produce a clipboard with a consent form to fill out. He did have the boys' medications, though, and only one dose. “Well, then, goodnight!”

Kevin came next, along with Karen, who thought that Butters was cute. They didn't talk much, but Kevin held his younger brother's hand the whole time while Karen talked. “It's gonna be better now,” Kevin finally said, once Karen started yawning.

“I know,” Kenny smiled at him, kissing his little sister goodnight, as Kevin carried her out.

Carol came in last. At first, she said nothing. She simply sat on the edge of the bed, holding Kenny's hand and staring around the room. “Who'd'a ever thought I'd have a house like this?” She finally asked.

“It's just sad that you had to get it, like you did, Mom,” Kenny replied, deciding to risk it. “You've heard that I...sort of, know things?”

Carol nodded. “I heard your little buddy, Clyde, talkin' about it,” Carol agreed.

“It's gonna be better, Mom,” Kenny assured her. “I mean, it's not like Dad _could_ have, you know? _Killed_ me?”

Carol only nodded, clutching her son's hand tighter. She smoothed his hair with her other, just looking at him, as if taking in the sight of the boy for the first time.

“Your eyes are so different, so blue,” she finally pointed out. Then she sighed. “We should have saved some stuff for Christmas morning.”

“It's OK, Mom,” Kenny repeated, as she bent down to carefully hold him.

When she sat back up, she wiped her face, and then took Butters' hand, placing it in Kenny's. “Merry Christmas, boys.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Kenny replied, as Carol switched off the light on her way out.

“She knows?” Butters asked nervously.

“Yeah,” Kenny replied, as he and Butters snuggled up as best they could. In the darkness, their lips met.

On the laptop, Trent's CD had looped.

“Maybe when we're healed up?” Butters sighed.

“Yeah,” Kenny agreed, “Damn, his voice doesn't sound real?”

“It's really pretty,” Butters agreed. “I'm glad Kyle changed history, Ken.”

“Me too, Leo,” Kenny agreed, covering his mouth with his own again.

From the speakers, Trent Boyette's pure, high voice sang of a night divine.

 


	21. Eclipse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serious Bunny, fluffy Creek.  
> Kyle begins to come to grips with his powers.  
> Tweek gives Craig his Christmas gift.  
> A new superhero visits Cartman in jail.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 21  
Eclipse**

*****

“ **Heal My Soul” - Credit – Trans Siberian Orchestra & Savatage, Christmas 2006, EP. Soloist unknown.**

Warnings: brief racism, language, underage-rated-PG romantic situations. Serious Bunny / fluffy Creek.

*

Christmas morning found Mysterion sitting on Kenny's windowsill, patiently waiting for Kenny and Butters to awaken. The figure in purple and black was nibbling at a small 25-carb granola bar, waiting for the sugar to hit him. While Scott Malkinson claimed that he could remain “functional” at a low of about 40 mg/dl, Kyle Broflovski found that he was getting woozy around 60. Then again, Scott's notes on being safe through the night with Type-1 diabetes hadn't included running around the rooftops of town in the cold all night long, either. But on the other hand, Kyle had been having flashes of memory all night long about having felt that way before. He remembered being diabetic. He remembered them tricking Eric Cartman into giving him a kidney. That memory alone made Kyle begin to question his existence again, versus what he remembered (or didn't), and for Kyle, that could be dangerous. He knew that one slip like that could send him phasing in and out of existence again, and after his first focused – although successful – instance of intentionally using his power, Kyle wasn't eager to try it again. The slip-up with Davey robbing that house had been bad enough, but 'quantum leaping' into his younger self had been even worse.

 _Even though I don't have any surgery scars, and I still remember Trent Boyette going to juvie,_ Kyle thought, as he watched Butters snuggled up with his head tucked into Kenny's shoulder. Butters had that silly little smile on his face, and his eyes moved behind the lids, indicating that he must be having a nice dream. _Kenny and Butters?_ Kyle wondered, still hardly able to believe it. He really wanted to attribute this to a time-shift, but then again, so much had changed, that Kyle couldn't be sure. He remembered the Halloween that Butters had painted his face red, dyed his hair green, and gone as a tomato.

Or had he?

One thing that Kyle _was_ sure of, though, was Korx. In fact, Korx was the reason that Kyle had come back to Kenny's house that morning.

There were things that they needed to discuss.

On the computer, Trent's CD was still looping, currently playing 'The Wexford Carol': “Lullay, Thou little tiny Child, By, by, lully, lullay. Lullay, Thou little tiny Child. By, by, lully, lullay.” Kyle didn't recognize the song, but he could see the title on the screen. Then again, he was sure that (other than the Dreidel Song) none of his friends knew any Hanukkah songs, either. Well, maybe Adam Sandler's 'Hanukkah Song'?

Still, Kyle was happy that he'd shared his Hanukkah with friends, and been invited to Kenny's for Christmas Eve.

And so he sat. Trent's voice was indeed sweet, and while the volume was not high, Kyle could feel the effect that the music was having on him. He watched his two friends sleeping, wondering what it felt like. _You know what a good sleep feels like, you idiot! But what's it like, sleeping with someone? Someone that you love?_

_So what's it feel like to love someone?_

_If you'd really loved her, you'd feel a lot worse right now, that she's gone,_ Some strange, unfamiliar voice spoke up in Kyle's mind. Kyle looked around, his hand going to for a weapon on his belt, but he saw no one.

 _Who are you_? Kyle thought, willing that thought outwards, as if he could project it.

 _I'm you,_ The voice replied. _Perhaps I'm Kyle, leaping in on you from some other place, some other time? Somewhere down – or up – the line? I'm everything, and I'm nothing. I'm everywhere, and nowhere._

_You're not taking me over!_

_But I already_ have _, Kyle. Now do you understand Mysterion, or Professor Chaos?_

_You're not me!_

_You threw Kenny under the proverbial bus at Jew Scouts camp, that one time that Haman tried to take over. Remember? You said that Kenny lied to you, and said he was Jewish, so he could give in. He gave his life for your entire Scout Council, Kyle. Who **else** knows that? You found him dying in the boys' locker room, or rather, you will. You don't even know that, yet. Maybe you won't – NOW. Maybe if you concentrate hard enough, you'll remember it? Effect before the cause? That is, before the Trans-Time catches up with that future._

_Trans-Time?_

_The time it takes for the changes to make it to the future and alter it. It's not instantaneous, you know. There's a lag._

Kyle Broflovski closed his eyes and let the memory of things yet to come eclipse him.

_*_

> “ _I hope you can do this again, Craig, because I'm not sure I can.”_
> 
> _And Kenny McCormick wept. It wasn't crying. No, there was a difference between crying and weeping._
> 
> _Kenny wept._
> 
> _He didn't know if he could face 'today' a fourth time._
> 
> _Knowing that he had to._
> 
> You've destroyed Kyle, Cartman, Clyde, and PC Principal's lives this time! _He thought,_ You did this.
> 
> _Very carefully, just as he remembered from Biology, Kenny sank the needle deep into his carotid artery and pressed the plunger._
> 
> _And while it might have been the insulin, an NDE, or just psychosis, Kenny couldn't be sure. But he was sure that the last thing he heard was someone screaming:_
> 
> “ _ **KENNY!”**_

_*_

_You remember it?_ The Other asked.

 _Yes,_ Kyle admitted. _How?_

_We're omnipresent, you and I, when we … do it. What do you call it? Phasing?_

_What do you call it?_

_Existing. Eclipsing. We eclipse those, just like the moon does the sun, Kyle. We eclipse the one we leap into. You know, I remember all the times that Stan would shout, “OH MY GOD! They killed Kenny!” And we'd always reply with “YOU Bastards!”_

Kyle bowed his head. _Hundreds of times._

And he remembered them all.

On the computer, Trent Boyette was singing. The scrolling title bar read: “Heal My Soul”. Kyle thought the tune was familiar. From some old movie. Not the words, but the melody. Some World War Two movie. A young English boy in a Japanese prison camp in China.

Kyle saw a white flag with a red sun.

The rising sun.

The sun was eclipsed.

“ _ **Suo Gan**_ ,” Kyle whispered, as Trent sang:

> I’ve been waiting, long forgotten  
> Shipwrecked on a distant shore  
> Am I drifting? No more wanted,  
> Floating outward, evermore?  
> All the dreams that I have harbored,  
> In the labyrinth of my Soul  
> Gone forever, not discarded  
> Only sleeping ‘til they’re whole.  
> In the graveyard of my heart now  
> Sleep the years that I’ve long sold.  
> For their markers is there nothing?  
> Only ghosts I cannot hold.  
> Father hear me, I am tired.  
> Shall I wake up in thy home?  
> Hold me closer,  
> I am trying,   
> Sweet Lord Jesus,   
> Heal my Soul…

Kyle sniffled and wiped his nose on the sleeve of Kenny's spare costume. Not that it would matter. The Mysterion suit was filthy. He'd busted up a breaking and entering, without the perps ever seeing him. Two Mysterangs to their backs, and the two of them had run, leaving two trails of blood.

“Shoulder blades, stuck good. Painful, but hardly lethal,” Kyle told himself. “How can I remember finding Kenny dying? That's four years from now. Maybe five?”

“I call it eclipsing, Kyle,” The Other in his head repeated, almost sounding as if he were right there, in the flesh. “I've been there. I am there. _You_ will be there. At least, some version of you.”

“Temporal Multiverse Theory?” Kyle asked 'himself'.

“You should talk to Kevin Stoley about that,” The Other sort of chuckled.

Kyle snorted under his breath, and simply sat, watching his friends sleeping.

The Other fell silent.

Only Trent sang on, his sweet boyhood soprano voice covering the three of them like a warm blanket.

A warm blanket, fresh from the dryer. Like the time of a summer's day, when the warmth is just setting in.

“Oh, God, Dad! The metaphors, man!” Kyle could almost hear Tweek whining, as Trent sang.

 _I leaped back and saved him, after we threw him under the bus a couple times. We ruined his life!_ Kyle thought, the regret and shame literally hurting him all over. _I had to do it. It was the only way. It saved Miss Claridge, too. It saved Trent, even if it did cost him his balls. Even if it did wipe out any kids he might have had some day. God, did I murder his future children? Is it murder, if they never get to exist?_

Kyle thought about Trent. He thought about what The Other had said about eclipsing.

“Eclipse,” Kyle whispered, wondering at how Kenny could have lived – and relived – all those horrible days to come.

All those horrible days that he, Kyle realized, now had the chance to help change.

Then he bowed his head and wept silently.

*

Some time later, in his new double bed, Kenny stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he snickered when he tried to run his left hand through Butters' grown-out hair. His wrist was floppy, and his fingers didn't work. His arm was asleep. Kyle couldn't help but laugh, which startled Kenny. Kenny yelped and flinched hard, which woke Butters up with a strange, strangled squeak of alarm.

“Merry Christmas!” Kyle snorted.

“Well, it's a damn good thing I'm wearin' Goodnights!” Butters complained.

“What'r you doing here, Kyle?” Kenny asked, glancing at the lock on his door.

“We need to talk,” Kyle replied.

“Busy night?” Butters asked, wiggling his way down to the foot of the bed. Kyle handed him his walking snap-on cast.

“Not really, just one -” Kyle began, but Kenny cut him off.

“You're right,” Kenny agreed, and then both of them said the same thing at the same time: “ **I did something really stupid**!”

“Jinx?” Butters offered, but the two of them just looked at one another.

“You first,” Kenny decided, as Kyle stripped off his costume, fetching his backpack from under Kenny's bed to change clothes.

“I think I know what Korx is up to,” Kyle said, “When I got mad at him, and went into his mind, I saw a lot of stuff. I've been thinking about it all night long, and the harder I think about it, the more I remember of what I saw, before we got … cut off?”

Kenny nodded. “I should have told you sooner, but I got caught up in this whole house and Christmas thing,” Kenny replied, “Just like the way I fucked up the last time I tried to save Tweek and Craig.” Kenny glanced at Butters. “But – you're still _here_ , Kyle.”

“What's _that_ mean?” Kyle asked in reply.

“Korx doesn't like you,” Kenny replied.

“Well, duh?” Butters giggled, hobbling over to the dresser for his backpack. “What?” he added, “It's been long enough, I can put weight on it a little bit!”

“I like the rocket ships and stars pattern on the Goodnights,” Kenny grinned at him, which made Butters blush. He quickly grabbed Kenny's robe and put it on.

Kenny turned back to Kyle. “Anyway, the other night, when we were in the … whatever it is, that dream dimension, you remember, the graveyard?” Kyle nodded at him. “Korx said some things about you, Kyle. Some pretty disturbing things.”

“Like what?” Kyle's eyes widened.

Kenny sat up and slid over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Fucking cast! Dammit, it itches! Anyway, you know you're a one-in-a-thousand-years kinda person, OK? Well, take one guess at what Korx said they do to people like you, in the future?”

“Like what?” Butters asked. “Oh!” He then remembered, “People who can phase in and out?”

Kyle's face fell. He exhaled hard, and put his hands over his face and nodded.

“He suggested that we kill you,” Kenny added clinically.

“WHAT?!” Butters gasped.

“That's helpful,” Kyle groaned.

“I should have told you the minute I woke up that morning, as soon as he said it,” Kenny shook his head, looking away. “I'm sorry. It was stupid and selfish, and I did it again.”

“How so?” Kyle asked.

“Kyle, you've got a kid with time travel capabilities, and tech from a thousand years in the future who thinks you should be killed!” Kenny exclaimed, “Now, Korx has been quiet for the past couple'a nights, but he _could_ come after you – literally – any time!”

“Does that mean that, uhm, like, Kyle could just pop out of existence, then?” Butters squeaked in alarm.

Kenny nodded. “You hurt him, Kyle. You hurt him, and it's a pretty safe bet that he knows that you know about his agenda.”

“Which is?” Kyle held out his hands, “Which I really _don't?_ ”

“I think the former Time Refugees, or Futurists, Goobacks, or whatever they are, are planning an invasion,” Kenny declared. “Korx and I tangled again the other night. He let on like he knew some things he hadn't told us.” Kenny then told them what he'd seen, of the 'ghosts' and the collapsing high school.

Kyle didn't look convinced. “This time, everything seems to have shifted for the better,” Kyle disagreed, “Why would Korx _do_ that, if he didn't like us?”

“I still think most of this is a happy accident,” Kenny decided.

“If I get what's goin' on,” Butters cut in, “Then everyone but for Tweek is fine now? And it's always Tweek that's dead? That's what we're tryin' to change?”

“'We'?” Kenny wondered.

“I remember the old way it was,” Butters reminded them, “And what if Korx needs some of those people alive? What if what Ken's been doing was what made them die? Like Clyde? Or this Teddy kid you told me about? What if Korx and his friends _need_ them alive?”

“Some of the others remember the old timelines, too,” Kyle added. “It seems Tweek's the only constant?” Then he paused. His expression turned to surprise. “And Cartman!”

Kenny nodded thoughtfully. “Cartman never seems to change,” Kenny agreed. “In all my experiences, nothing ever seems to happen to him. He's always there, and he's always still an unfeeling, self-centered prick.” Kenny thought about it. “But we can't go on anything that I remember about Cartman, since he got arrested the other night. All that's changed now.”

“Well, uhm, maybe changed for the worse?” Butters wondered. “I mean, he's in jail _now_? Yates has really got a hard-on for him!”

Kyle and Kenny both blinked at him. “You _know_ what I mean!” Butters added, blushing again as he pulled his shirt on, ignoring his crutches as he hobbled back over to the bed.

Kenny nodded. “Kyle impersonating Mysterion, and busting Cartman a number of years too early, really mucked things up. I don't think anyone's going to complain, though?”

“I'm not,” Kyle confirmed it. “And didn't you mention that Cartman did some … I hate to say it, but, _fag-bashing_ of Tweek and Craig later on?”

Kenny nodded. “I busted him more than once,” he agreed. “And he vandalized Red Racer more than once.”

“So all that changed, then,” Kyle theorized, “When I caught him cutting Craig's tires the other night, which I never did before, that set off another round of ripples, didn't it?”

Kenny nodded, glancing at the door. “I used to know how things were going to turn out, but now, I've got no idea about what's on the other side of that door. Hell, we've got Pip and Trent back, and God knows what else changed!”

“I need to get home,” Kyle decided.

“Won't you get in trouble for bein' out all night?” Butters wondered. “And what if Korx comes after you?”

“I'll just tell 'em I woke up early and went for a walk,” Kyle shrugged. “And if I start feeling funny, well, I can always phase out to some-when else, I guess. Besides, you'll remember me, right?”

“I hope so,” Butters sighed, and Kenny gave Kyle a hard look, which softened, when he saw the look on Kyle's face.

_I die all the time, and no one ever fucking remembers!_

“You didn't have to go out last night,” Kenny reminded him, “Mysterion only needs a few sightings, to let everyone know that I'm not him, and that he's still around.”

“I know,” Kyle nodded, “And that's kinda what scares me.”

“Whadda'ya mean?” Butters wondered.

“I like being _him_ ,” Kyle confessed, shaking his head and staring at the window. “When I'm him, it's like I'm...not me. It's like...”

“It's like he's an entirely separate person?” Butters offered, and they both looked at him in surprise. “When Chaos comes,” Butters explained, “I can't ignore him. He takes over. It's like I'm pushed over to the side, and I just sit back and watch what _he_ does.” Butters looked down at his lap. “But I can't say I don't like it.”

“He's a personality you created, to help you deal with stuff you've been through,” Kenny explained, “Trust me, I know how that is! Where do you think Mysterion and the Princess came from?”

“Uhm, yeah, about _her_?” Kyle wondered.

“She's apparently the expression of my repressed feminine side,” Kenny shrugged, which hurt a bit. “You really think I could have been openly bi, or gay, in _this_ house? With my brother and my dad?”

“I guess not,” Kyle cocked his head. “Do you guys...? I mean, do you ever hear ... voices?”

“Yes,” Both Kenny and Butters agreed, without hesitation.

Kyle sighed in relief. “Good, I thought I was nuts!”

“You probably are, but no more so than anyone else who dresses up in costumes and goes out looking for fights at night,” Kenny said, sounding encouraging.

“But _I'm_ not Mysterion!” Kyle retorted, “So _who_ am I hearing?”

“I don't know, maybe he'll tell you his name?” Butters shrugged, “But I don't think he's the Human Kite.”

“I agreed,” Kenny nodded, “The Kite was a dress-up, pretend persona. Something for fun. It's not like Clyde can actually fly and drinks blood. It's not like Super Craig is like Superman, or Jimmy is an actual Speedster, like the Flash.”

“But _we're_ different,” Kyle sighed. “Aren't we?”

Kenny nodded somberly. He then looked up at Butters. “And it sucks. Trust me, Leo, you don't want an actual superpower.”

“Kenny, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you get a new, restored body each time you reincarnate?” Kyle asked.

“Yes, and I'm not doing it!” Kenny retorted, his voice suddenly hot. “For one thing, it fucking hurts! For another, no one but you and Butters and maybe a few others even remember that I died! And last, but not least, I have no clue if I'll reincarnate today, yesterday, or tomorrow. It was me committing suicide in Craig's car that started this whole time-tripping romp for me, and I'm not willing to risk doing it again!”

“So you're stuck with the broken leg?” Butters asked.

“'fraid so,” Kenny sighed again, “For five more miserable weeks.”

“And a few more of physical therapy,” Kyle added.

“Thanks,” Kenny groaned. “Anyway, think about it, Kyle. But like I said, if you've reached this point pretending to be me, then I'd say it's time to retire the Human Kite, and find out who you – or _he_ – really is!”

Kyle yawned.

“Go check your blood sugar, then take a nap,” Butters suggested.

“You can use the door, you know,” Kenny added.

When Kyle had gone, Kenny and Butters just sat on the edge of the bed for a bit, holding hands.

“Ken?” Butters asked, after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“It wasn't my fault, was it?” Butters asked, his eyes filling, “I mean, about Tweek – again? I mean, again – for you?”

Kenny shook his head. “No, Leo. It was me. Or Fate. Or the Universe. Maybe even God. I dunno.”

Butters thought about it. “Was Pip dead, the last time you were older? In high school?”

Kenny nodded. “And Clyde had a relapse of cancer. Timmy died. So did Stan. Once. I changed, that though. I don't know about Teddy, I never knew of him until Kyle mentioned him. But Firkle was alive; him and Ike were a couple.” Kenny sighed again, and it was a moment before he spoke. He simply held Butters' hand, staring at it. “It was Kyle that was bad off, though, I think. I mean, he wasn't dead. Not really. But he was dead – inside.”

“I know,” Butters agreed, sniffling, leaning over on Kenny's good side.

“I couldn't let that happen to you. Not again,” Kenny told him.

“Whadda'ya mean, Ken?”

“It was pretty bad for you, too, Leo, the first time through. You were pretty withdrawn. Nerdy. Art was all you lived for. And your Grandma was - ” Kenny paused.

“Go ahead? I can take it?”

“She was horrible, Leo. God only knows what all she did to you at home. I dunno, since we weren't together. You seemed OK enough at school, but I could tell that something was wrong. I...I almost came after her, on many occasions,” Kenny confessed.

“Nasty old skank!” Butters snorted, “I'm _glad_ she's gone! I _hated_ her!” He gave Kenny a hard look. “You know what? Don't tell me no more! I don't wanna know!” Butters declared.

“I'm gonna tell you _one_ more thing, Leo,” Kenny disobeyed him. “I was with you. And that was what mattered.”

Then Butters collapsed into Kenny's arms and cried.

*

Tweek and Craig had both gone home the night before, to each spend Christmas morning with their own families. After that, Tweek had gone to Craig's house so that they could exchange their gifts. Tweek went right to the garage first, knowing where he'd find Craig.

Craig was seated on a stool at the workbench. He was dressed in a new set of slightly large blue work coveralls, and wearing new yellow construction boots. As the heater hadn't warmed the garage yet, he was also wearing his old yellow poofball hat. It looked like he was taking something apart. “Why would you put AC on a 'Vette that's gonna be sold in Colorado?” Craig was muttering to himself.

“So your cupcakes don't melt in July?” Tweek offered, as he came up behind Craig and put the heavy package on the workbench in front of him.

“So how was it?” Craig asked, after a peck of a kiss.

Tweek groaned. “The usual. Lots of pictures.”

“You get any good stuff?” Craig asked.

“Pretty much all I asked for,” Tweek shrugged, “And a God-awful rainbow colored jacket that I didn't!”

“You should wear it, Babe,” Craig smiled. “Or I will!”

“I think it's a size small for you,” Tweek replied, as Craig hopped down off his stool. Tweek found that he was looking him right in the chin, and not the eyes. “You're growing faster than me.”

“Dad's tall,” Craig reasoned, “I've always been the tallest. Sometimes I hate it.”

“I hate being short,” Tweek smiled with only side of his mouth, “And you're wearing boots. No fair!”

“You're just right, so I can do this,” Craig kissed his forehead. “We should take this inside,” Craig then suggested, grunting in surprise as he picked up the box. “What is it? A lead brick?”

“Close!” Tweek grinned, looking at the array of car-related things scattered all over the workbench. “Did you get anything that wasn't for the car?” He asked, walking over to a rolling red toolbox that was as tall as he was.

Craig picked at the front of his coveralls, and lifted one foot. “Does this count?” He grinned. “Nah, the toolbox is from Grandma. She said I just shot all my birthdays and Christmases until I'm like nineteen!”

“You know those are 'I take it in the ass' boots, right?” Tweek reminded him. “At least, according to Al and Mr. Slave?”

“What did you do, take notes?” Craig asked, and Tweek blushed. “Maybe you need a matching pair, about two sizes smaller?”

The boys laughed, heading back inside where it was much warmer. Tweek took off his coat, revealing an ugly sweater. It was green, and it looked like it was embroidered with a deformed Elf who was drinking from a coffee mug.

“Where did you get _that_ awful thing?” Tricia asked, not sure if she wanted to hug her “uncle” or not.

“The Gnomes, man!” Tweek looked around quickly, brushing his hair out of his face, “I think it's a peace offering!”

Craig and Tricia laughed. Thomas and Laura looked as if they didn't know what to think, but said nothing. Tweek and Craig waited patiently, as Tricia carefully positioned them on the love seat with the Christmas tree in the background for pictures.

“What did you get me?” Tricia then asked anxiously.

“Go get your own boyfriend!” Craig told her, as Tweek handed her the gift.

Tricia tore into it to find a deluxe hair accessories kit: clips, pins, ribbons, the whole nine yards – as Craig put it.

“You ever heard of 'shooting your own foot off'?” Craig asked Tweek, as Tricia inspected it all. She giggled in delight, hugged and kissed Tweek, then went back to the kit to find a banana clip that she could decorate herself. “You know where that's gonna end up?” Craig added.

“I know,” Tweek sighed, as his presents were then almost literally dumped on him.

From Tricia, he received a set of model paints, brushes, and various cements. The larger box contained a set of coveralls, identical to Craig's, which Tweek was obligated to put on for another round of photos. Then Tweek noticed the patch on the left breast pocket. It said “Craig.” He glanced at Craig, and saw that his patch said “Tweek.”

“I switched them! Get it?” Tricia explained proudly, “Isn't it cute?”

“We're _not_ cute, dammit!” Craig exclaimed, realizing from the looks they were getting, that he'd already lost that argument. “Open mine,” Craig encouraged Tweek.

Craig's gift turned out to be a model of an aircraft carrier.

“It's the _USS Enterprise_ , the aircraft carrier from the _**Star Trek IV**_ movie,” Craig explained, “It even comes with little Chekov and Uhura action figures!”

“Where did you _get_ this?!” Tweek gasped, his hands shaking just a little. “You know how _rare_ these are? Oh my God! It's never even been opened!”

“The nerds that live next door to Kyle hunted it down for me,” Craig smiled. “They had this J.J.-Trek model of the reboot starship, but I was like, NO! I either want the Enterprise carrier, or the Enterprise refit starship!”

“Nerds making fun of nerds?” Tricia snickered, as she was engrossed in working on that banana clip. “Oh, look! A rhinestone shooter thingie!”

“GAHH!” Tweek flinched. “Open y-yours!” He then told Craig, as Tricia fled upstairs for something.

“It's gotta be a car part?” Craig guessed, as he let his dad lift the box.

“That heavy, in a box that small?” Thomas wondered, “Carrier bearings? U-joints?”

Craig's right eyebrow went up as he opened the box. “A rock?”Ga;;pG

“Oh, look, Laura!” Thomas called, “Tweek got Craig a rock!” He snickered, looking closer. “Nice blue crystals, though? What is it?”

“Read the card!” Tweek exclaimed, as he was starting to fidget.

Craig took out the tissue paper and found the card: “COLORADO METEORITE, YEAR 3000”. The rock was about the size of a softball. It was shiny in most places, jagged on the edges, and studded all over the fractured side with blue crystals. There was also a large magnifying glass in the box, and another card in Tweek's handwriting: “IT CAME FROM OUTER SPACE! COBALT-54, IRIDIUM-154, IRON, NICKEL, COMPOSITE.”

Craig's jaw dropped, and his blue eyes went wide as he sat staring at the meteorite. He then carefully lifted it out of the box, dropping the cards.

“Oh – m-my – God!” Craig stammered, transfixed by the way light played off of the crystals.

“Korx said that it's Cobalt-54, and doesn't _exist_ anywhere else on Earth, right _now_ ,” Tweek whispered in Craig's ear.

“What is that?” Laura wondered, as Craig tried to explain it – without much success.

“So, it's a space rock?” Thomas concluded.

“He's delirious,” Laura smiled. “It's the perfect gift, Tweek!” She kissed his cheek.

Tricia then returned with Stripe, placing him in Tweek's lap. Stripe sniffed Tweek's coveralls, looked at the meteorite, and then crawled into a pocket. More pictures were taken with Stripe and the meteorite.

“Yeah, Dad, it's a space rock!” Craig breathed in wonder. “A very special space rock! It's been on it's way to me for billions of years!”

“And a few thousand _back_ ,” Tweek mumbled.

“He didn't look like that when you towed that wreck of a car home?” Laura pointed out.

“Yeah, I only got him a _Corvette_ for his twelfth birthday,” Thomas shrugged, “And all I got was 'Thanks, Dad!'!”

“Dad, I love the car,” Craig reminded him, holding up the meteorite, “But this? This is... _God_ , I dunno!” Craig exhaled hard. He then pulled Tweek into a hug.

“NRGH! Watch out for Stripe!” Tweek gasped, as a flash went off. “Oh God! Please don't post that online!” He begged.

“I won't,” Laura promised.

“I...I need to get a sealed glass case for this, and some canned air,” Craig fumbled, clearly embarrassed by his emotional outburst that had just been captured by his mother's camera. “I love it, Babe!”

Tweek was too busy watching Craig, and didn't see what Tricia was doing. He felt her jam something down on his head.

“Tricia!” Thomas exclaimed, “ _Boys_ don't use th-” He paused.

“I dunno, it kinda works?” Laura pointed out, as Tricia held up a small mirror for Tweek.

She'd made up the banana clip in green and blue, and put it on Tweek's head to hold his hair back out of his face.

“Perfect!” Tricia declared proudly. “Now you don't have to worry about haircuts!”

“ARGH!” Tweek gasped. “Craig? CRAIG!” He said louder, nudging him hard.

“OW! Watch it, Tweek! You almost made me drop my-” Craig abruptly closed his mouth as he looked at Tweek. He took in his boyfriend's forehead and ears, suddenly realizing that he'd not seen those features very often. Tweek looked so very different, all of a sudden. His green eyes were more pronounced, and Craig realized that his boyfriend's face was almost perfectly symmetrical. His lips were so red, a bit chapped from the wind, and...

“Y-yeah!” Craig stammered, “I, uhm, I think it's … I mean, it's a good look – for _you_!”

“Maybe you should try it, Buttpipe,” Tricia suggested, “You've been wearing that stupid hat for as long as I can remember! No one even knows if you _have_ hair!”

“Oh Gowwwd,” Tweek groaned, taking the small mirror to examine himself again, “I look like a girl!”

“No, you don't, trust me,” Craig assured him, not realizing how he sounded.

“Yeah, he's gay, all right,” Tricia giggled.

“Trish, stop teasing your brother!” Thomas warned her. “Or, I dunno, at least, think up something for him, too. He's had that same haircut since he was a baby.”

“I don't care about my fuh-... my hair!” Craig replied.

“You should,” Tweek said in a low voice, “It's so black and shiny, and... what?” He stopped, noticing that everyone was smiling at him. “ARGH! What?!”

“You two,” Laura smiled, giving each one of them a kiss on the cheek. “Here,” She handed him one more present. “This is from Thomas and me. Craig picked them out.”

Tweek opened the box, and his face paled.

It was a pair of yellow work boots, just like Craig's. Only smaller.

“I ran into Mr. Slave at the shoe store, and I asked him to pick them out,” Craig confessed, grinning.

Tweek blushed.

“You wanna go put the meteorite, and Stripe, up?” Tweek asked, with no stammering, no twitching, as he took Craig's hand.

“Yeah,” Craig smiled, as they got up to go upstairs.

“He brings out the best in Craig,” Thomas told his wife, once the boys (and a tag-along Tricia) had left.

“It was so awful, when they were broken up, that one time,” Laura agreed, “I don't know what Craig would do without him.”

“They were meant to be together,” Thomas nodded happily. “Never thought I'd be able to admit it. It'd be like the sun without the moon, you know?”

“You're a hopeless romantic,” Laura chuckled, “And a bad one, at that!” She added, placing her arms around his waist.

*

“Who the fuck are you?” Eric Cartman demanded of the superhero who had just dropped from the heating duct in the ceiling outside of his solitary jail cell.

The masked figure in black said nothing. There was no skin visible. His cowl, cape, and entire suit were black. The only color was the orange ring of realistic material, resembling fire, that formed a circle where his face should have been. There was a thin circle of the material on his chest. It took Cartman a moment to see it, but there was also a lighter shade of black on the superhero's chest.

A black moon, eclipsing the sun.

“Well, I know you're not Token. Mother fucker's in Switzerland, fuckin' rich nigger,” Cartman sniffed.

“I don't think I've ever heard you use that word before,” the other boy said, his voice distorted by a toy voice-changer device.

“Ha ha! Well, you're not Jimmy or Timmy!” Cartman laughed, which was, in itself, an unnerving sound. Eric Cartman hadn't laughed much lately. The hero didn't think he liked it.

Not anymore.

“So, what are you calling yourself? The Flaming Hemorrhoid?”

“Funny you should use those two words.” The hero paused. “I am Eclipse,” he then added, the toy making his voice sound cold and empty.

“I could yell for a guard, and you'd be busted,” Cartman threatened him, “You'd never make it out.”

Eclipse did not reply.

“I really don't care,” Cartman finally admitted, sitting back down on his meager bunk.

“That's the first time, I think, that you've spoken to me honestly,” Eclipse replied.

“So, you hangin' out with Kenny and Butters? You retards still playing dress-up and saving the world?” Cartman grinned, which sent a shiver down Eclipse's back. “Faggots,” he added, his voice full of hate.

“That's the Eric Cartman I know,” Eclipse said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your mind isn't large enough to comprehend it, Eric. I could get out. I am out. I am here, and I am elsewhere.”

“Oh, fuck off, Kevin,” Cartman turned his back to him. He heard something land on the floor behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that it was a box of Snacky Cakes.

“They're not poisoned,” Eclipse assured him.

“You know what I miss? Tweek's pastries,” Cartman admitted. “Am I the only one around, who's not gay?”

“Aren't you?” Eclipse asked in reply.

“I'm not a FAG!” Cartman snapped, kicking the box of cakes.

“You're never going to change, are you?”

“The fuck do you care?” Cartman snapped again, although he did retrieve the damaged box.

“I don't,” Eclipse replied.

“Then why'd you come?” Cartman asked.

“Because I had to see it. See _you_. Here,” Eclipse spread his arms. “You've finally done it, Eric. You've finally ruined your life, once and for all. Not that you wiping out your future self didn't do that!”

“That was a fake,” Cartman snorted, gobbling down a cake. “Stan and Butters' folks set them up with that scam.”

“No, it was real, I'm afraid,” Eclipse assured him. “You see, Eric, it's not pretend anymore. It's not shabby costumes, and pretend powers.”

“Go away, Craig,” Cartman shrugged, “But thanks for these. Merry fuckin' Christmas!”

“I thought that no one, not even you, should be alone and forgotten on Christmas,” Eclipse told him.

“My mom was here!” Cartman protested.

“No, she wasn't,” Eclipse disagreed, “Liane is done with you, Eric. You still don't get it, do you?” Eclipse dug in, “Trent Boyette is alive and well! So is Pip. In fact, so is everyone else that you hurt! Everyone has had a wonderful Christmastime this year, Eric, but for you. No adventures, nothing crazy. Just the love of family and friends, all of which you decided to turn your back on a long, long time ago. Take a good look around, Eric. This is your life now.” Eclipse spread his arms again, turning in a slow circle.

“I'll get outta here!” Cartman told him, sounding like the petulant child that he (sadly) was. “And just what superpower do you think you have?” He laughed again.

“I am,” Eclipse simply said.

“What's that?” Cartman shrugged, wolfing another cake.

“I am,” Eclipse repeated. “And I want to give you a gift.”

“What's the cakes for, then?” Cartman mumbled around a mouthful. “You got a real present? For me?” He scoffed.

Eclipse simply nodded.

Then he raised his hands towards the ceiling. Exhaling hard, he clenched those hands into fists. He brought one arm down quickly.

Then he pointed a finger at Eric Cartman.

But that finger, as Cartman focused on it, wasn't right.

Bits and pieces of it, almost like pixels, were disappearing and reappearing.

Cartman dropped his cake. His eyes went wide, and his mouth hung open. He trembled, then went rigid. He began to drool.

“My gift to you,” Eclipse whispered, moving closer, but still pointing, as his entire body began to shimmer and pixelate.

Eric Cartman made a strangled sound as he began to tremble again. In his mind, images flashed by at dizzying speed.

> Trent Boyette had started a fire.  
> Trent Boyette had been kicked by Kyle.  
> The four of them were riding the school bus.  
> Kenny was dead.  
> Kenny was alive.  
> Zombies, GMO turkeys, and then Barbara Streisand were attacking the town.  
> Starvin' Marvin had a spaceship.  
> They all had lice.  
> Clyde was sick.  
> Mr. Garrison was president.  
> Butters jumped out the school window.  
> Tweek was fighting Craig.  
> Tweek and Craig were dating.  
> Ike was missing.  
> Heidi Turner didn't want to look for him.  
> Junior High.  
> High school was flashing by.  
> “We regret to inform all students that Craig Tucker has been severely injured in an accident, and that Tweek...”

“Know,” Eclipse said, as he lowered his hand and turned his back.

Cartman gurgled, then went to his knees.

“Goodbye,” Eclipse then said, his voice echoing as if spoken by an infinitely large choir.

The pixelation began to increase, until finally, Eclipse simply vanished before the stunned prisoner's eyes.

Eric Cartman screamed.

And that was how the jailer would find him that next morning – still on his knees, trembling, wide-eyed, his voice long gone, but still trying in vain to scream.

 


	22. Strangers in a Strange Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny, Butters, and Kyle aren't sure about the town anymore. Butters moves in with his foster family, and Craig opens the shoppe with Tweek. Kyle does some serious soul-searching, and an uninvited guest shows up at Tweek's party with one more surprise for the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of underage making out, but no real scenes. Ike walks in on Kyle changing, and embarrasses him. This chapter sort of ran long with Kyle, but "he" seemed to think it was necessary.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 22  
Strangers in a Strange Land**

The morning of New Year's Eve dawned sunny but cold, and for a few kids in South Park, the idea of going out to meet the day was somewhat daunting.

Even frightening.

Kenny McCormick lay in bed, staring out the clean window. That in itself was fascinating, as the glass wasn't dirty or broken. And the window was so big. It even had a twelve-inch shelf built in. The sunlight warmed the room, which was still something that Kenny wasn't used to. He only had one blanket, just a pair of boxer shorts instead of his clothes, and he was almost hot. Aside from his broken leg, which he was vigorously scratching under the cast with a tool that Butters had made for him, Kenny thought it was all too good to be true. Given his recent experiences, though, Kenny also realized that it could all disappear in an instant, should someone cause a shift in time again. That, and he realized that he had no idea what was on the other side of that window. So many things had changed that there was now no anticipating what was going to happen.

And Kenny McCormick didn't like that.

His renovated back yard was covered in snow, of course, but all the trash was gone. He sighed as he remembered the old shed, and the moldering recliner that had once been Lady McCormick's throne. The rusty road hog of a Chevy station wagon was gone too, now parked in Craig's back yard for parts. Beyond the wood privacy fence, Kenny could see through the open gate, was a landscaped quad of some kind that separated his property from the other _**Sodosopa**_ buildings. Those buildings were also looking much better, and many of the smaller business establishments that had been abandoned were already either under renovation or demolished.

There was also a large “Z” artistically burnt into the wood fence.

 _Zorro,_ The voice of Mysterion told Kenny, _Hell, even superheroes need a vacation! Let David deal with the lowlifes._

Kenny glanced at the night stand, and while there weren't that many different medical devices there, it reminded him of another sick boy's bedroom. A bedroom, perhaps, somewhere 'up there' in one of those futures that he'd already experienced. Kenny had a urinal, a bottle of pain pills, a rather useless scratching tool from the hospital, an unused pair of those silly slipper-socks, a pitcher of water with cups, and for some reason, an inhaler. Nurse Christina had even given him a get-well card that laughed when opened, and a Foley catheter to remember her by. There was also an open box of Goodnights, which made Kenny sigh. It had only been one night, after all, and not having Butters with him literally made his stomach ache. As Kenny reached for the urinal, deciding to sleep in and enjoy the sunny warmth, he realized just how much he'd gotten used to _not_ sleeping alone.

Someone tapped on the door. “Kenny? We're gonna run into town for some more stuff to finish mine and Karen's rooms with,” Kevin called, “You gonna be OK for a bit?”

“Yeah, I wanna sleep in,” Kenny replied.

“Promise you won't try and get out of bed until Nurse Gollum comes by?” Kevin reminded him. “We'll be back in a couple of hours!”

Kenny closed his eyes, remembering the timeline where Kevin had been convicted of armed robbery. He remembered how Craig was the one that Nurse Gollum had been visiting daily. He remembered Butters and Kyle, and how closed off and remote each of them had been. He remembered Clyde, Jimmy, Timmy, Stan, Token, and all the rest of them.

And he also remembered how badly things had gone for some of them.

“This way is better,” Kenny muttered, watching his rats go about their business in their new enclosure. “I know how you feel, guys. It's not safe out here anymore,” he said, laying a hand across his chest wrap. Nurse Gollum would be coming by to put a new one on, after his sponge bath. “Hell, not too long ago, and I'd've had a heyday with that,” Kenny sighed, realizing that the thought of having a young lady bathe him didn't appeal to him at all. In fact, it sort of embarrassed him. After all, Nurse Gollum wasn't a bad-looking young lady, in profile, Kenny figured, and they were all accustomed to her conjoined twin.

He popped a pain pill, and wondered how Butters was doing, as he drifted back off to sleep.

***o***

At #1020, the smells of breakfast cooking filled the house for the first time in quite a while. In an upstairs bedroom, hamsters were up and running happily on their wheel. In the twin bed, a blond boy with scruffy hair stirred. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked up to see a younger brunette boy in light blue and white pyjamas sitting at the desk with his head down, just watching the hamsters.

As Butters sat up, he saw the pillow and blanket on the floor next to his bed.

“Aaron?” Butters asked.

“I had a bad dream,” Aaron whimpered.

“It's OK,” Butters assured him, glancing at the closet, which was closed. “I think I remember you coming in?”

“You said it was OK,” Aaron mumbled. “I like your house. It's bigger than mine was.”

“Gosh, you didn't have to sleep on the floor, Aaron!” Butters said.

“It's OK,” Aaron mumbled.

Butters wasn't sure what to say. He knew that Aaron's dad had killed the boy's mom, while watching an episode of some investigative murder porn show. He also knew that Aaron had seen the whole thing.

“You have bad dreams a lot?” Butters wondered.

“Yeah,” Aaron sighed.

“Me too.”

“Professor Chaos has nightmares?” Aaron asked bluntly, and Butters flinched. “Dougie told me,” Aaron added.

“Dougie doesn't come around any more,” Butters mumbled, realizing how much he missed him, and worrying about who else Dougie might have told. “What's that smell?”

“Probably something fancy, if PC Principal is cooking it,” Aaron shrugged. “I'd just rather have cereal.” Aaron paused. “Thanks for letting us rent your house, Butters. Kenny's place was a real mess.”

Butters grabbed his robe from the end of the bed and put it on quickly. He went to Aaron, and put his hands on the younger boy's shoulders. Aaron flinched.

“Sorry!”

“No, it's OK,” Aaron twitched a little, never taking his eyes off the hamsters.

“So, how is it, having them for foster parents?” Butters had to ask.

“It's cool,” Aaron answered. “Kinda like being in school, but not really. They're nice.” Aaron looked over his shoulder at Butters. “I thought you'd stay at Kenny's longer?”

“I wanted to,” Butters mumbled in reply, gathering up some clothes to put on after his shower. He felt his face getting hot.

“PC said Kenny's your boyfriend,” Aaron shrugged.

“Yeah,” Butters didn't hesitate to answer, surprising himself. “I guess someone is gonna check in on him, since his mom's back in rehab now,” Butters explained, noting the look on Aaron's face. “What'sa matter?”

“I...I'm kinda scared of you,” Aaron admitted, “Ever since Dougie told me. I mean, us moving in here, and fostering you, and all. I guess that's why he told me. We used to hang out, you know.”

Butters felt ashamed of himself. Somewhere inside of him, something twisted. _Damn, we didn't start this to terrify little kids,_ The Other groaned.

 _Didn't we?_ Butters told him, _Didn't we kinda wanna destroy the world?_

Professor Chaos didn't answer.

“Well, uhm, even super-villains wet the bed, sometimes, you know,” Butters grinned at Aaron, “And he doesn't need to be scared. He can still hang out.”

“When's your mom coming home?” Aaron finally returned a smile.

“I dunno,” Butters shrugged, “Last time she freaked out like this, she tried to drown me in the car.” Aaron sat gaping at him in shock. “So, you think you can handle having a super-villain for a big brother?”

Aaron smiled at him. “C'mon, it smells like eggs Florentine.”

“The hell is that?” Butters asked, deciding that the shower could wait, and that the mysterious eggs did smell good.

“It's made like a hamburger, with eggs for a bun, and tomato and spinach inside, some kinda meat, with onions and cheese and stuff,” Aaron explained.

“I'd rather have cereal,” Butters decided, putting his arm around Aaron's shoulders as they headed down to breakfast.

“Good morning, boys!” Strong Woman greeted them, as she was setting the table. The sight of PC Principal in one of Butters' mom's aprons (a flowery printed one) stopped Butters in his tracks.

“What's the problem, Butters?” The man asked, and Butters tried to not laugh.

“I told you that print just didn't work for you, Hon,” Strong Woman told her husband.

“Are you fashion shaming me, Dear?” PC Principal asked, grinning.

“Yes!” All three of them answered.

“Now, before we go any further, Butters,” Strong Woman said, presenting Butters with a pen and paper, “We need to be sure that you're comfortable with certain forms of physical contact.”

“'Parental Affection Consent Agreement'?” Butters wondered.

“It means you're OK with stuff like hugs and kisses, being tucked in, and stuff like that,” Aaron explained.

“You'll also note the family meeting clause, to discuss all forms of non-physical contact consequences for discipline,” PC Principal informed him.

“You mean the whole family decides on being grounded?” Butters gasped.

“Grounding?” Strong Woman chuckled, “Who does _that_ anymore?”

“I've found that making a child sit in a dimly lit room, thinking about what they've done, and listening to Phillip Glass usually clears up any problems right off!” PC Principal put in.

“So, you're comfortable with affectionate contact?” Strong Woman asked. “Like, when we took you to lunch those times?”

Butters signed the consent form at once, and burst into tears when she hugged him.

 _What the hell did his parents do this kid?_ Aaron wondered.

***o***

At #20288, there was no sleeping in. The alarm had gone off at half-five, as the boys were opening the coffee shoppe that morning. Having taken their bath the night before, the boys were up and into clothes, and out the door, in record time.

“Jesus, Tweek, I didn't know you had to get up so early!” Craig complained.

“NRGH! I don't open every morning!” Tweek explained, as they took off on their bikes, “Just Saturdays and some holidays, so Mom and Dad can get some time off!”

As they arrived at the store a few minutes later, there were already a few early customers waiting. Craig had never opened with Tweek before, but the coffee urns (on timers) were already ready to go.

“I have to wear an apron and a hat?” Craig smirked, pinning on his name tag.

Craig was impressed with Tweek's transformation from nervous pre-teen into manager. Tweek ordered everyone wanting “coffee, black, and food,” into Craig's line, and specialty drinks into his line. Between orders, Craig was amazed to see how Tweek's hands moved, sometimes not even watching what he was doing, as he mixed things like half-caff-soy-lattes and the like. For some of the customers, Tweek didn't even need to ask what they wanted.

“I see why you do all this stuff the night before,” Craig said, between customers.

“Go get another tray of donuts, would you?” Tweek asked.

“No, that's a custard. I wanted crème filled,” A customer corrected him.

“How do you tell?” Craig asked.

“The custard is more yellow on the end, where the filling hole is!” Tweek explained, “Crème is white! If it's kinda brown, it's peanut butter!”

“Oooooh!” A familiar voice crooned, as Tweek began mixing another drink with one hand, grabbing a large chocolate iced brownie with the other.

“Hey, Al, Mister Slave,” Craig greeted them, remembering that Mr. Slave liked his coffee black and “any old fruit-filled pastry”. Craig snickered that odd little laugh of his, finally getting the joke, as Tweek told him what the customer in his line wanted.

“You're looking super this morning, boys?” Al complimented them, patiently waiting in Tweek's line.

“Oh, God!” Tweek groaned, “No, I'm not!”

“So, I hear you're really fixing up that old 'Vette?” Al asked them.

“Quite the ride!” Mr. Slave agreed.

“Yeah,” Craig nodded, serving up a couple of other “black, to go!” customers, “But I'm not sure I wanna keep doing it.”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Tweek gasped, overfilling Al's espresso, and shooting himself in the face with canned whipped cream.

“I don't think I wanna keep the 'Vette,” Craig sighed, grabbing a clean counter towel to wipe Tweek's face. Customers didn't to mind, or even look surprised.

“He's so good at that?” Mr. Slave pointed out to Al, as they took a booth.

“B-but, Craig? That car's like, your wildest dream come true? And what about your dad?” Tweek wondered, ignoring the fact that all the eat-in customers seemed fascinated by Craig wiping his face for him.

“I'll be thirteen, end of January,” Craig shook his head, “It'll be three years of work before I can drive it.”

“A year and a half, Kenny said,” Tweek said without thinking. Craig looked sharply at him, as the customers looked on. “What?” Tweek explained, “I hear things, Craig. Kenny was telling Kyle and Butters that you'll have the car running, rough, not fully done, the summer that you're fourteen.” He took the towel from Craig and finished wiping his face. “When you first get the Holley Double-Pumper four-barrel carb for it.”

“I didn't think you knew about carburetors?” Craig asked.

“I don't,” Tweek replied.

“Oh, don't go there, Babe, please,” Craig groaned, as he went to get another fresh tray of pastry, and to put another in a warmer. Craig grabbed a cinnamon role and shot some extra warm frosting over it. He bit the pastry, as if the pastry were to blame.

“He was right about too much stuff,” Tweek reminded Craig, as he went to start another urn of coffee. Craig saw that he was trembling again. Tweek grabbed a large cup, and filled it. Craig stopped him at half, making him top it off with decaff and whipped cream. He kept his hand gently on Tweek's damp, sticky sleeve. “Craig, you love that car. You love to work on engines. And your dad, he's like...a new guy, you know? It'd break his heart!” Tweek looked away. “I wish I had something like that, with my dad.”

Tweek waited for Craig to say something. When he didn't, Tweek added, “If you didn't believe Kenny, and what he said about crashing Red Racer, you wouldn't look like that. You wouldn't be talking about selling her, after you got all this car-stuff for Christmas. I mean, we got matching coveralls, for God's sake!”

“I know, I saw the picture! It was sooooo cute!” Mr. Slave complimented them. “Gimme another one of those jelly filled, will ya, Tweek?”

“It's gonna go straight to your ass!” Al warned him.

“Oooooh!” Mr. Slave laughed. The boys blushed.

“The next wave of customers should hit anytime now,” Tweek warned Craig, as most of the dine-in's were clearing out.

“ _More_ of them?” Craig asked.

“That was the five o'clock crowd, and pretty soon, the off-at-six and in-at-six crowd will be in. There's a few sevens. Then it'll be the in-at-nine crowd,” Tweek explained, “Not to mention the quick-lunch crowd starting around eleven, and -”

“Why's it so busy for a holiday morning?” Craig wondered.

“They wanna get done, so they can go out and party tonight, remember? Just like us!” Tweek reminded him, “We invited everyone here, after close! ARGH!” Tweek gulped his coffee, leaving cream all over his nose. Craig smiled.

“It's because you're both here,” Al surmised, reaching into his pocket. “We've a little late Christmas present for you two,” he told them, handing the boys two rainbow flag patches of about 3”x4”. The boys took them, just staring at them. “You're so lucky,” Al told them softly, “If a twelve year old had come out in my day, **oh – my – gosh**!” He emphasized the last words. Then he smiled and went back to his table.

“I think they probably noticed, Hon,” Mister Slave put in, grinning.

“Didn't Kyle say something about these pride flags on my jacket, the other night when he freaked out?” Craig asked.

Tweek nodded. “He was looking for them. And the Japanese emblem patch?”

“We got matching blue jackets for Christmas, you know,” Craig reminded him. “Mine's already got the yellow hash marks on the sleeve.”

“So now Kyle's in on it?” Tweek wondered. “Craig, what are you _not_ telling me?”

Craig sighed. “Kyle thinks he had a vision of the future, the other night, when the cheese shoppe burned,” Craig told him. “He saw the jacket, with these patches! I was like seventeen, and this place was like the high school hangout on Saturday night.”

The boys both nibbled a bit of pastry and had a drink before the next rush, watching the place clear out.

“You got some whipped cream on your...right there,” Craig pointed to his own cheek, where his ear connected.

Tweek wiped at it and missed, so Craig moved in to kiss it off.

“Hey, the place isn't quite empty!” Mr. Slave reminded them.

“Oh! It just brings a tear to the eye!” Al sniffled, “They're so lucky things are how they are today!”

“Amen to that, Sweetie,” Mr. Slave had to agree, as they took their leave of the boys.

The bell jingled, and Miss Claridge came in for her usual tall vanilla latte with just a touch of caramel.

As Tweek was showing Craig how to mix it, as she wasn't in a hurry, Craig's eyebrow went up.

“Is everything OK, Miss Claridge?” Craig felt compelled to ask.

“Why, yes, thank you. It's fine. Why do you ask?”

“Just a feeling?” Craig looked confused as he handed her the drink. He noticed the scar on the back of her hand.

“Oh, that? Just a minor scald from the coffee maker at home. That's why I come here!” She smiled, as she then left.

“That was...odd?” Craig wondered.

“So what do we do about it, then?” Tweek reminded him, “Short of selling the car?” He blushed a bit, and waved as the last couple left. “Thank you!”

“Aren't they just adorable?” The couple was saying, and Tweek groaned.

Craig shrugged. “I dunno. I dunno how Dad would take it.”

“And you don't really wanna do it?”

“No,” Craig admitted, “I love that car. Almost as much as I love you, Babe.”

“We'll just be careful, then,” Tweek decided. “Maybe rig up a modern airbag in it?”

“And stay off of 285,” Craig agreed, as he pulled Tweek closer. They shared a quick kiss, then Craig's phone rang. He fumbled for the screen, giving it a swipe.

“Hello?” Token's voice said, “Hello? Craig? TUCKER! Damn, man! It's Facetime! I can SEE YOU two, you know!”

The boys ignored him as they went down behind the counter.

“I'm gonna save this chat!” Token threatened them. “Don't _think_ I won't! Craig? Tweek? _**Hello**_?”

***o***

As the morning rush was going on at _**Tweak Brothers**_ , and Kenny and Butters were still asleep, Kyle Broflovski was still up. After a rough night the night before, and having slept most of the day, sleep had eluded him that night. He hadn't been out as Mysterion.

He had been out as Eclipse.

And he'd been seen.

In fact, the headline of the morning paper had a very flattering (and totally inaccurate) image of an artist's rendition of Eclipse on the front page. The headline read: A NEW SUPERHERO IN SOUTH PARK? _Damn, I wish I had muscles like that!_ Kyle thought.

Kyle read the story over again, noting the sightings of Mysterion, and how the police's leads as to Mysterion's true identity had all been dead ends. The buzz of the day was now about Eclipse, and Kyle figured that Kenny would like that. Mysterion had been seen, while Kenny was down with his broken leg, and that was enough. A few more sightings of Mysterion, perhaps, and then Eclipse could take over.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Kyle muttered, as he hid the costume under a loose floorboard in his closet. He put his robe on, and sat down on his bed.

Being Eclipse, he had soon found, was a sensation unlike any other he'd ever felt. Even when he remembered how he'd felt, that first time that he'd phased, Kyle could still hardly compare the feelings. In fact, he had to try pretty hard to remember that first time in light of what he'd done: He'd traveled back in time to his four year old self, read the thoughts of others, and even translocated himself to the jail to see Eric Cartman.

To say nothing of what he'd done to Cartman's mind.

_He's probably hopelessly insane now._

_He deserved it!_

“Ripples,” Kyle reminded himself, wondering if, when Kenny died, that his reincarnations were affecting the entire timeline. Or just South Park. “We can't risk doing that again. Him, or me,” Kyle fretted. He got his blood glucose meter out and checked himself. “70,” he muttered, figuring that he could have some eggs and turkey bacon for breakfast, and risk a piece of toast. He dismissed the alarm on his phone and entered the number into the app. “I can live with this,” Kyle told himself, as he picked up the CD that Trent Boyette had given him.

Kyle found that he not only remembered Trent being taken away to juvie, twice, but that he also remembered Trent coming back to kindergarten. Of course, being that age, they'd all forgotten about it. It hadn't been until about the end of second grade that Cartman (it had had to be him) had reminded them all of the surgery that Trent had undergone.

“You better watch it, Fatass,” Stan had warned Cartman, “One of these days, Kyle might kick you, too!”

“Can you give me back the last five years?” Trent had once asked, in some other, altered timeline.

“Yeah, I can,” Kyle whispered, wondering how his mother would react, should she find out that he had a Christmas CD. He couldn't imagine Trent singing Hanukkah songs in Hebrew. To Kyle, it sounded a lot like Klingon anyway, and he wasn't too keen on being made to learn it. “I'm just sorry about how I did it, Trent.”

“Don't be,” Kyle heard someone answer, and he spun around, holding the CD as if he intended to throw it like a Frisbee. He turned to see a figure in black standing by the closet. Kyle blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes.

It was Eclipse.

“W-what?” Kyle gasped.

“Relax, Kyle. Time isn't going to shift. I'm not really here, you see.” Eclipse told him.

“Uh, _yeah_ , you are?” Kyle disagreed.

“I'm actually in your head, Kyle. I'm a projection. You're the only one who can see me,” Eclipse added.

“So, now I'm schizophrenic?” Kyle fretted. “Who's gonna show up next? John F. Kennedy? Hitler?”

“Nope. You're simply projecting a persona, and things that you remember from about three and a half years from now.”

“How can I remember it, if I haven't done it yet?” Kyle had to ask.

“Effect before the cause,” Eclipse shrugged, “Happens all the time. You needed me, so here I am.”

“I'm talking to myself,” Kyle muttered.

“Pretty much!” Eclipse replied happily, pulling off his mask to show Kyle his own face, but with a bit of a short, reddish goatee. He stroked it. “I've been trying to grow this for about a year,” Eclipse explained.

“We're not doing so good?” Kyle pointed out.

“Low testosterone,” Eclipse shrugged.

“Scott warned me about that,” Kyle sighed, sitting back down on his bed. “So, I can remember things I haven't done yet?”

Eclipse nodded. “And you're likely to remember things that you'll do, that'll be undone by some other Leaper.”

“Leaper?”

“Time traveler,” Eclipse shrugged, coming to sit beside him. Kyle noted how much taller he was. He was at least six feet tall (1.83 m).

“I don't understand,” Kyle declared, “If you're me, and you're from the future, and I know everything that I'm ever going to do, then why haven't we been able to save Tweek yet?”

“Because you haven't tried yet,” Eclipse explained. “This is the first timeline to feature us as Eclipse!”

“Huh?” Kyle wondered.

“According to Mysterion, in all the other futures he lived, you never did anything with your powers. You'd forgotten about them.”

“But you've planned to save Tweek?” Kyle had to ask, “And if you haven't, why _not_?”

“From my perspective, the accident hasn't happened yet,” Eclipse told him, “Our preparations are all in place.”

“Which are?” Kyle had to ask again.

“I can't tell you.”

“WHY THE HELL NOT?” Kyle blurted.

“Because I have no memory of me coming back to tell me – you – how to prevent the crash,” Eclipse shrugged.

“But it HAS happened! It WILL happen!” Kyle reasoned, as he realized something else so horrible that it almost overwhelmed him. “The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells?!”

Eclipse nodded again. “The classic movie wasn't bad, but the remake sucked. We enjoyed the book,” Eclipse commented. “You see the paradox here?”

Kyle's face paled. “Alexander Hartdegen built the time machine to go back and save his fiance, but each time he saved her, she only died again the next day or so,” Kyle recalled the 2002 film version. “It was the head Morlock that explained it to him. Hartdegen built the machine because _she_ died. The time machine existed, and Alexander went back, _because_ she died. She _had_ to die, or he never would have went back, or even built the machine. He could not have _gone_ back, if she lived!”

“Oscillation Theory aside,” Eclipse agreed, “You're correct. Tweek is the paradox. He was killed, and that created new timelines. In some of those, Craig Tucker either died, too, or committed suicide. You've seen a few of them. Kenny has seen more of them. Kenny has lived more of them.”

“And Kenny was thrown back in time, _because_ Tweek died,” Kyle sniffled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you telling me that we _can't_ save Tweek? No matter _what_? Because unless Tweek dies, Kenny won't come back in time to save him, and Tweek will still die – just like the lady in the movie?”

“That's what we're going to find out, Kyle,” Eclipse told him flatly. He took off his mask fully and lowered the cowl. Older Kyle's hair was styled in a crewcut, with just a bit of fringe. There was a thin scar through his left eyebrow, and a bit of pink on his forehead from the tip of it.

“Korx said that Tweek was the focal point,” Kyle remembered. “What do you know about Korx?”

“Just that if I were you, which I am, I'd be very wary of him,” Eclipse replied, nodding.

“He wants me dead,” Kyle reminded himself. He did a double face-palm. “Someone like me only comes along once in a thousand years, and the Futurists kill them?! The hell is up with _that_?”

“Kyle, I can tell you this, because I remember telling me this,” Eclipse told him, “You, me, us – we've got a very dangerous power, Kyle. It would be really easy to get a God Complex, and try to change every little thing that we think is wrong.”

“But for the ripples,” Kyle groaned. “It's like the movie _**The Flashpoint Paradox**_.”

“Exactly,” Eclipse agreed, “Which bring us to our next problem.”

“What's that?”

Eclipse looked away. “You asked why I didn't stop Tweek's death. I'm not from that far ahead, I told you, and-”

Kyle's face then turned a whiter shade of pale as he realized what Eclipse was saying.

“You, me, we … don't remember it, because we're … we … don't _exist_ – then?” Kyle gasped, looking as if he might be ill. “I was just thinking about...trying that!”

“No matter how hard you try, Kyle, _you're_ not going to be able to be a _you_ from the timeline where Tweek lives. Neither can I. Trust me, I've … we've … tried,” Eclipse sighed, hiding his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled a bit. “Which means that -”

“Which means that I – that we – died … _before_ the accident happened? Will happen?” Kyle saw the twisted logic of it.

“Everyone is alive and well _now_ ,” Eclipse reminded him. “Always before, when the timeline changed, and someone was saved, someone else died. That was the thorn in Kenny's side, recall. No matter who he saved, someone else died.”

“Korx said the same thing,” Kyle nodded sadly, “He even said that he'd just cut to the focal point, and let the rest fall where it would. He wouldn't even try.”

“Kenny's trying,” Eclipse said softly, “So are we.”

“Kenny said that all those other times, he never came to me. That I never was Eclipse before now?” Kyle reasoned, determined to see a way around the paradox. “Every other time, someone died.” Kyle shook his head. “I guess _this_ time, it's me?”

“Every Immortal has his weakness,” Eclipse pointed out, “Achilles had his heel. The Highlander could lose his head. Werewolves have silver weapons.”

“I don't understand,” Kyle admitted, “If I were dying, couldn't I just phase into an earlier me?”

“That would seem to be the logical approach,” Eclipse agreed, “But apparently, it didn't work for me. I don't remember being killed. I mean, I haven't been, yet. Ain't that a bitch? It must have taken me by surprise?” He then laughed, and Kyle was shocked that he could find his own death amusing. “Just remember, Kyle, there's no greater love -”

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,” Kyle recited the Bible verse. “Ma would shit herself if she knew that I'd read the New Testament, King James version, when I'm supposed to be studying up for my Bar Mitzvah in May.”

“We always loved that verse, and I think you know why,” Eclipse told him.

Kyle nodded, biting back tears. “And what does that say about the friends, who don't even remember the dying friend?”

“We remember now,” Eclipse mused. He inhaled deeply.

“What?” Kyle had to ask.

“This is where things might go a little ka-ka,” Eclipse admitted, “If I can rip off _**Quantum Leap**_?”

“I never liked that show,” Kyle sniffed, “And Kenny beat you to it.”

“I do,” Eclipse grinned, “So you will, too. You see, Kyle, something's been bothering me for a few years now.”

“What?”

“Why did you – we – do what we did to Cartman, the other night? What was the point of that?” Eclipse wondered.

“You feel bad about it?” Kyle exclaimed, “Why? Cartman's a fucking monster! You should know that!”

“And _you're_ not?” Eclipse warned Kyle, “There's a very fine, almost gossamer, line between good and evil, hero and villain,” Eclipse warned him, “And I've spent a lot of sleepless nights wondering if I crossed it.”

“We're talking about someone who ground up a kid's dead parents into chili, after he set them up to get killed, and made the kid eat them!” Kyle reminded Eclipse, “Remember that one?! What about the time he tried to have the Jews all exterminated again? Do I have to go on? He's a maniac!”

“I remember giving Cartman the chili idea in nursery school, right before I smashed Trent's balls?” Eclipse agreed.

“Cartman did some really bad things, or would have,” Kyle tried to defend himself. “While I was out patrolling, I started remembering a few of them.” Kyle paused. “He just couldn't wait to tell Craig, that first day back in high school, that Craig was the one who killed Tweek. The psychopath thought it was funny!” Kyle held out his hands, “Don't tell me you don't get it? He's dangerous!”

“So are we,” Eclipse countered. “Right now, Eric Cartman is sitting in a rubber room, in a straitjacket, sedated, after having screamed his vocal cords raw. You should have known his mind couldn't take him knowing.”

“He was the only other thing that wasn't changing,” Kyle said, “I figured that _he_ had to have something to do with it. I dunno, OK? It's just a hunch!”

“So you destroyed his mind, over a fucking _hunch_?” Eclipse gasped, “Dammit, Kyle! That's exactly why people like Korx and his folks want people like us dead!”

“You don't sound too broken up over brain-raping Korx?” Kyle countered, “And that's beginning to bug _me_!”

“OK, touché,” Eclipse admitted, “It's a means to an end. He hates me! Us!”

“How Machiavellian! Fuck the pronouns,” Kyle finally decided, “And like _ **we**_ _don't_ hate Cartman? Hell, _he_ hates us! God dammit, Eclipse! I'm scared of him, OK? You know what he did – will do – to Tweek and Craig! The fag-bashing? The vandalism? Well, he can't do _that_ now!”

“He couldn't do it, once you got him busted for cutting the tires the first time,” Eclipse countered, “Although that was a wildcard. Kenny never did turn him over to the cops in the other futures. He just relied on his own private justice. Personal vendettas. But you didn't need to do to Cartman, what you did.”

Kyle pointed a finger in Eclipse's face. “There's no difference!”

“So you're lowering yourself to Korx's level, then? Let the bodies hit the floor, and walk away?”

“He so much as admitted that he plans to murder me! Remember when he tried to beat me to death with a wiffle ball bat?” Kyle almost shouted, realizing that he might wake the family up if he wasn't careful. And the last thing he needed was to have his mother walk in and find him arguing with himself. He just might end up in the South Park Mental House in the room next to Cartman. Kyle shuddered. He knew exactly what that felt like, from when his friends had committed him that one Christmas.

Kyle and Eclipse then both sighed, flopping back on the bed.

“I'm fucking omniscient, almost I guess, and I can't tell you if we were able to help save Tweek,” Eclipse groaned.

“Was that part of why you came back, too?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah. That, and I liked being twelve,” Eclipse admitted. “You know, you can leap back, and just put it on auto-pilot, to live it again? I did that once.”

“For what?” Kyle had to ask yet again.

“Our Bar Mitzvah. God, it was great,” Eclipse smiled. “You're gonna love it, Kyle. You won't even know I'm there.” He then closed his mouth. “Aw, shit,” he groaned, “Spoilers!”

“I won't look ahead to that, OK?” Kyle smiled, and Eclipse smiled back.

“Just promise to be very careful Kyle. Concentrate on the moment. It'll help. I'm going now.”

“Why?” Kyle asked.

“Because you need to eat, get some sleep, and I've closed the loop. It's a Closed Causality Loop,” Eclipse explained. “I remember this chat.” He paused. “Well, most of it!”

“That was _**Star Trek, The Next Generation,**_ ” Kyle scoffed.

“Or a Predestination Paradox!” Eclipse grinned, as he pixelated out of existence. “Just remember, here and now, Kyle. Stay in the moment!”

Kyle went to stand in front of his mirror again. He undid his robe, letting it fall to the floor, to stand there naked.

He didn't know how long he stood there, just poking the reflection in the seemingly solid glass, then poking the same spot on his seemingly solid body. The idea of talking to himself from a future that might still change was weighing heavily upon his mind, and Kyle thought it might be the best way to stay in his “here and now”. He realized that other than a bath, he never really paid any attention to himself. He remembered what Kenny had told him, trying to convince himself that the Kyle that Kenny knew from the future(s) wasn't him.

_You're pretty much a eunuch, Kyle._

But that Kyle hadn't been Eclipse.

“I am.” Kyle whispered a few times.

He touched the silver medic alert bracelet on his wrist.

“I am a late bloomer,” he finally sighed in defeat. “But we all know we ain't kids no more,” that choral voice echoed in his head. “This May, I'll be an adult, at least as far as Judaism is concerned.”

“With balls like that?” Ike laughed, having sneaked in on his brother.

Kyle screamed, blushed, and tripped over his own feet while fumbling for his robe. All at once.

Ike was laughing his ass off, but Kyle noticed the tears on his face. “Ike, what's wrong?” Kyle asked, suddenly not caring as he simply picked up his robe and didn't think to put it all the way on.

“I...I had this awful nightmare,” Ike started to cry, although he was still snickering at his brother.

“Yeah, it's pretty funny, isn't it?” Kyle sighed, closing his robe and sitting on the bed. He held out his arms. _I can at least hope._

“I'm not three any more,” Ike protested, although he did sit on his brother's lap.

“I know. You're eight. The same age I was, when me and my friends started adventuring,” Kyle reminded him. “What was your nightmare about?” Kyle asked, pulling Ike's head down to his shoulder and snuggling him like he'd once done when Ike was very little.

_Things will get better between you and Ike. Trust me._

“I dunno,” Ike whimpered, “All I 'member is you were walking down the middle of the highway, and a truck ran over you! You were splattered all over the road, all over the grass! I picked up your hand that was tore off!”

Kyle felt a chill.

 _Trust me, Kyle, you do_ not _wanna look over in the grass!_

“Kyle? Are you gonna die, since you got sick?” Ike asked, his voice sounding very small.

“No, Ike! No!” Kyle assured him, “I've got Scott to help me, and all this tech to make sure I'll be OK. Who told you that?”

“Fillmore,” Ike answered, “He said diabetics all go blind, get their legs cut off, and die!”

“Just the dumb ones,” Kyle assured him. He reached over to his night stand, opened a drawer, and pulled out a couple pieces of Christmas candy. They ate them, staring out the window into the darkness. “You should try and go back to sleep. Ma will let us sleep in, so we can stay up tonight.”

“C-can I sleep with you?” Ike begged, still visibly shaken by his nightmare.

Kyle remembered all the times that Ike had so aggravated with him requests like that. This time, though, he smiled. He kissed his little brother's forehead, and snuggled down under the blankets with him.

“Have you been up all night?” Ike asked, “The bed's cold?”

“Couldn't sleep,” Kyle answered, “You know, Ike, it's like... Ike?”

But Ike had already gone back to sleep.

***o***

Despite his protestations that his borrowed wheelchair had more than enough power to make to make it downtown, Kenny finally gave in and accepted a ride from the Strongly Principled Couple to Tweek's New Year's Eve party. As the couple had offered to chaperon the party, at the Tweaks' request, it sort of made sense to all go together. That, and it _was_ a bit cold out for a long wheelchair ride.

“This didn't happen last time,” Kenny observed, keeping his voice low, as he sat next to Butters in the very back row seat.

“I know,” Kyle agreed, “I've peeked just a little, and I don't think me or Eclipse ever did this.” Kyle glanced at Ike, who had his headphones in, oblivious. Ike didn't seem at all thrilled, but as he'd had to admit, it beat staying home with his parents.

“You mean Tweek and Craig putting on a New Year's party?” Butters asked, “Well, uhm, I think it's a really great idea! Tweek said he had all sorts of stuff, like wi-fi, video games, TV, even board games!”

Kenny couldn't help but smile. “Leo, you're so easy to please!” He said, louder.

“Just as long as everyone isn't busy with their own device,” Kyle snorted, giving Ike a nudge, as the van stopped at Stan's house.

“You think they're all trying to get rid of us?” Stan smiled, as he climbed in.

“Trust me, Kyle, this didn't happen before,” Kenny whispered in Kyle's ear again. “This is all beyond bizarre.”

As they headed out of the suburbs towards downtown, Kenny and Kyle looked around. Everything looked the same. All the familiar buildings were still there. Stan was going on about basketball, and how Kyle was going to get benched if he didn't 'get his head in the game'. Ike was ignoring them.

“It all looks the same,” Kenny mumbled, noting the restaurants and clubs that were still open, likely for their own parties.

“It feels different,” Kyle shook his head. “It feels wrong.”

“What' wrong?” Stan asked.

“Not sure,” Kyle replied, flinching as he felt Stan take his hand.

“Whatever it is, just … you know? OK?” Stan fumbled.

Kyle smiled at him, but it was wan.

“If this is about those pictures Cartman posted, I don't care, Dude,” Stan assured him. “Dad already asked me about it. About a hundred times.” Stan snickered. “I think he'd be thrilled if we were...you know, like Tweek and Craig.”

“I know you're not gay, Stan,” Kyle sighed, squeezing his hand, and realizing once again that he just didn't feel 'like that'.

 _Here and now,_ Kyle reminded himself, remembering his reflection in the mirror, _Stay focused on this moment! God, wasn't that in one of those awful Star Trek TNG movies?_

When they arrived at _**Tweak Brothers Coffee Shoppe**_ , Kyle couldn't help but be reminded of what had happened the last few times. He visualized a large circuit breaker marked “Eclipse”, and visualized turning it off as they made their way in.

Everyone was there. Even Karen and Tricia and their friends, along with Ike's Gang. Token was on someone's laptop via Facetime, and was chatting with Jimmy and Clyde.

“Kyle, what's wrong?” Wendy asked, noticing that Stan had an arm around Kyle's shoulders. “Are you OK?”

“I dunno,” Kyle replied, “Thanks. Couldn't sleep. Dunno if I'll make it all night.” Stan gave him a hard look. “It's OK, thanks, Stan,” Kyle assured him, as he then watched Stan go to the counter with Wendy. Stan glanced back over his shoulder once. Music was playing loudly on Craig's laptop, and everyone seemed to be having a good time already. Kyle felt a chill, as he thought that the place looked just like he'd remembered it from his vision. It was just that everyone was younger.

“They don't know,” Kenny said, as he rolled up behind Kyle, “And those that think something's amiss will just think they're remembering it wrong.”

“I dunno which one is wrong anymore?” Butters added.

“You get used to it,” Kenny reminded him. “I'm sorry I dragged you into this, Leo.”

“Well, uhm, I sure have to believe you now, don't I?” Butters grinned.

“OK, Dudes,” Craig announced, “It's all open bar, buffet, so help yourselves!” He glared at Clyde. Tweek arrived with a tray of food marked “Clyde / Scott / Kyle.”

“Nrgh! And you guys, NO SUGAR!” Tweek reminded them harshly.

“C'mon,” Scott told them, “Tweek's been on this stuff all day.”

“You made _all_ this just for us?” Clyde gasped, “That must'a took all day!”

“But for his nap,” Craig nodded, rolling his eyes. Tweek blushed.

“It's all organic, no wheat, no gluten, no sugar, and no artificial nothing!” Tweek declared proudly.

Kyle looked away, feeling as if someone had punched him in the stomach. For just a second, he hadn't seen Tweek. He'd seen an angelic figure in white. Then he noticed the matching jackets that Tweek and Craig wore: blue, just like they had in their _**Civil War**_ period. Kyle noted the gay pride flags on the right sleeves, and the yellow 'corporal' marks on Craig's jacket. The only patch missing was the Asian character one, and a few pins.

 _Turn it off, turn it off, damn you!_ He reminded himself. _God, he went to all that work, for us!_

_It's happening, just like in the vision!_

“Stay with me, Kyle,” Kenny whispered, as Butters was getting them lattes.

“Kenny, how can you do this?” Kyle asked, “How did you do this, however many times already?” Kyle sighed and looked away. “I'm not sure I can do this _once,_ and I've got something else to tell you.”

“What?”

“I had a talk with my older self this morning,” Kyle said quickly, “But he said he wasn't really here, just a projection.”

“I'm not surprised,” Kenny replied, as the noise level began to increase some. Butters brought them their drinks, and they moved to a table near the bar. Kyle explained it all, and by the time he was done, he'd thoroughly confused all three of them.

“This could be bad,” Kenny decided, looking around the crowded shoppe. “You know, I dunno what to expect out of everyone now. I feel like I'm in a room full of strangers.”

“Me too,” Kyle agreed.

“So what do we do?” Butters asked.

“We have fun,” Kenny shrugged, “And just go with it!”

“For what, _four_ years?” Kyle exclaimed, “We just go with it, for four years?”

“Kyle, everyone's fine, and things are better,” Kenny reminded him. “And this time, I've got you to help me. In fact, I've got nearly infinite Kyles to help me!”

“I don't feel so infinite,” Kyle sighed again, as the front door opened. They didn't hear the chimes, so much as they felt the cold air.

The boys looked up to see another boy walking in. He was dark-complected, with slightly almond-shaped eyes. He wore a blue cap with a yellow poofball on top, and a sky blue jacket with gray cargo pants and snow boots. On his wrist, he wore a large and complex-looking watch.

 _No one wears hats anymore,_ Kenny remembered, as the boy joined them. He did not take his hat off.

He didn't need to.

“The hell are _you_ doing here, Korx?” Kenny gasped, as both he and Kyle tensed up as if to attack.

“Haven't you done enough damage already?” Kyle growled at him.

“Me?” Korx looked around, smiling, “Your friends are here, and it's a New Year's party! What did _I_ do?”

“Oh, how about suggesting that Kenny kill me?” Kyle rolled his eyes, wishing he was in persona – and armed. But he wasn't. “Or what about setting off another wave of time ripples to fuck everything up again?”

“Ah,” Korx sighed, “See you heard about that?” He sniffed, looking at Kenny's drink. “What is that?”

“I'll get you one?” Butters offered nervously, and off he went.

“Thanks!” Korx agreed, “Relax, Dudes. I've adjusted the discriminator, and I promise, there won't be any ripples this time.”

“So you're the one responsible for bringing back Firkle, Teddy, and everyone else?” Kenny demanded.

“Most of them,” Korx shrugged. “Seems that bringing Tweek that meteorite fixed a lot of stuff!” He smiled.

“Why?” Kyle asked.

“Did you ever think that maybe their descendants might be kinda important, a thousand years from now?” Korx retorted. “Kenny's actions end up killing, say, Clyde? And Clyde had six kids? And those kids had about thirty kids? Who then had a hundred or so kids? What then?”

“Good point,” Kenny agreed.

“I did sort of make one more alteration for you guys, though,” Korx added, as Butters returned.

“What's that?” Butters asked.

“He knows,” Kenny assured Korx, noting the look on the future-boy's face.

“Oh, relax, Kyle! I'm not here to assassinate you,” Korx assured him. Kyle didn't look convinced. In fact, he looked as if he might jump the table at any moment to attack Korx. “Look, I'm sorry, OK? But you're scary as hell, Kyle, all right?! I've got tech, and you've got a gift. If you don't believe me, why don't you just peek? See if I'm lying?”

Kyle wasn't sure what to say or do, so he just listened.

Korx checked his 'watch'. He held up a hand, pointing at the door. “Like I said, one more surprise. About...now!”

The front door then opened, and a large black man walked in.

Kyle stood up so fast that he knocked his chair over. He instantly grabbed the imaginary switch in his head, and flicked it to ON, mentally screaming for Eclipse, as if “Calling all Kyles!” to see if he should know this or not.

 _This isn't right! **This didn't happen before!** We _ don't _remember this!_ A cacophony of Eclipses exclaimed in alarm.

“Hello there, Children!” A familiar voice, so long unheard, called out.

Had Kyle's cup not been paper, it would have shattered on the floor as it fell from his hand.

“Chef!” Kyle breathed.

 


	23. Factions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Eve at Tweek's party. Korx comes to celebrate, and reveals a few things. But is he telling the truth? Kyle isn't sure. Neither is Eclipse, after he finds out a hidden health issue with Tweek. Cartman gets a visitor at the South Park Mental House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be fewer and far between now, as it's getting into the busy season for my job(s). Please stay with us, though!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 23  
Factions**

Kyle Broflovski had not seen Chef since the incident with _**The Super Adventure Club,**_ and he remembered all too well his adult friend's grisly death after falling into that deep ravine to be torn apart by a grizzly bear and a mountain lion. For a moment, he just sat there in shock, staring. So did Kenny. They gave one another a long look, but couldn't help but look back at Chef. After all, neither of them had seen their old friend in years.

 _Time is a spiral, space is a curve, and we've been making a real mess of it!_ Kyle reminded himself, still unsure if he believed what he were seeing.

“Get the hell outta here, children!” Those last words that Chef had ever said to them echoed in Kyle's mind, and from the look on his face, it was clear that Kenny was feeling it, too.

But Chef's voice wasn't the only one that Kyle was hearing. Alongside it, somehow harmonizing with, while not overpowering it, the chorus of all those other Kyles sounded just as shocked.

And then another Kyle spoke up, causing a flood of memory in Kyle-Prime. In Eclipse.

“ _Stan, quick! That piece of rope!” Kyle yelled, remembering that there hadn't (and_ had _been) a length of rope lying on the ground at the end of the bridge. Stan grabbed the rope, tied a knot, and lassoed Chef. The four boys grabbed on, yanked the rope, and pulled the man back up as lightning struck the bridge, setting it on fire._

_There was/wasn't a rope._

“ _Good thing I paid attention to knot tying in Cub Scouts!” Stan had/hadn't said._

 _Where did that rope come from?_ Kyle thought. _The bushes rattled. Was there someone in the bushes? No, it was just the four of them._

_It was always just the four of them. Maybe Butters, too._

“Fucking poison ivy,” Korx sniffed, sipping at his drink, and chatting with some of the others. Just like before, no one seemed surprised that Korx was there. Then again, it being South Park, it really did take a lot to upset people. An old friend visiting from the future just wasn't enough to do it. Korx was just sitting there with all of them, chatting away as if he belonged there.

And Chef? Both Kenny and Kyle instantly realized that for the rest of them, nothing at all was amiss. Chef hadn't been killed. The timeline had reset for all of them. Chef had come back to work in the cafeteria, and no one remembered him dying. No one remembered Kyle giving the eulogy at Chef's funeral, about how that 'fruity little club' had corrupted him.

Everyone, that was, except Butters.

Butters was staring as well, and noticing that he was trembling, Kenny took his hand.

“What do you remember, Leo?” Kenny whispered, as PC Principal and Strong Woman greeted Chef.

“I...I...,” Butters mumbled, looking lost. Kenny gripped his hand more firmly. “I r-remember he died! He was saying things, awful things, about kids! And he died, but...? But he was back in the cafeteria the next day?”

“It's OK, Leo, you're remembering both timelines – before and after the shift,” Kenny reminded him.

“Is this what...wh-what it feels like? To be losing your mind?” Butters whimpered, as the memories of things that had/hadn't happened began to come back to him.

“ _Who's this new cook?”_  
“Hello there, Children!”  
“Any idea what this meat dish is?”  
“Salisbury steak day!”  
“I'm not really hungry.” - “Me either.”  
“OK, Butters, you go ask him why one of your nuts is bigger than the other one, while we sneak a box of 'Dem Donuts'!”  
“I think I'll just go sit outside with the Goth Kids.”  
“It's cafeteria food, if you don't like it, bring your own lunch!”

Butters closed his eyes and shook his head.

“It's not like erasing an Etch-a-Sketch,” Kenny told him, “Trust me, I've tried.”

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Kyle whispered to him.

“Boy, I'll say!” Butters agreed.

“ **You** did this!” Kenny then accused Korx, rolling back from the table, and being _just_ able to contain his shock at seeing Chef as well. “You went back and left that rope!”

“I thought I heard someone behind us,” Stan offered, “Good thing that rope was there, or Chef would have died!”

“Kenny, are you OK?” Clyde asked, “You and Kyle look like you've just seen a ghost? Butters, too?”

“Yeah, like that's never happened in _this_ town,” Craig reminded them.

“Is everything all right, Children?” Chef asked, looking perplexed.

Both Kyle and Kenny nearly burst into tears. Kyle took a step forward.

“Chef!” He cried, making to run to him, but also noticing that something wasn't right. He glanced at Korx, whose watch-like device on his wrist was glowing faintly blue. Korx was grinning. Butters, Craig, Tweek, Clyde, and all the others seemed frozen – as did Chef. He was just standing there, smiling, one hand up and caught in mid-wave. Clyde's eyes were half closed, one hand up with one finger, as if stopped when pointing. The steam coming off of Tweek's drink wasn't moving.

“The Melting Clock Paradox!” Kyle gasped, as his mind began to connect the dots of information that he'd gotten from Korx the last time.

“I figured you needed a minute to get a hold of yourself,” Korx smiled, finishing his drink. “Time _is_ moving, it's just not moving very fast.”

“I see,” Kyle growled, taking a breath. He closed his eyes. In his mind, numerous Kyles were still in shock. Others were in tears. Still, others were mourning the loss of their dear friend, Chef.

Still.

“Trans-time,” Kenny put in, nodding, “The changes haven't caught up with the flow of _this_ Timeline yet?”

Korx nodded. “You're welcome. Can I get another one of these?” He held up his cup. “And actually, most of the changes _have_ caught up. Like I said, I just thought you and Kyle might need a moment to adjust. Hopefully, you'll assimilate the two sets of memories, like Butters is doing. If you don't, well, you're gonna be pretty lost in this new timeline. I mean, it's not very often that you remember both, after a shift, unless you have a Discriminator.” He pointed to his watch.

“That watch of yours is slowing time down?” Kenny asked.

Korx nodded. He got up, took a bar towel from a frozen Tweek's arm, and wiped the table. He then got up and fixed himself another drink.

“You're a barista too?” Kyle asked.

“I've been watching Tweek do this for a long time,” Korx explained. “Surprised you don't know how to do it?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh! Here's an idea! Why don't you just brain-rape Tweek, and then you could do it too!”

Kyle glared at him. Kenny rolled in between them.

“He's hiding something!” Kyle accused Korx, as Kyle resisted the urge to just move in and take that knowledge by force.

“Of course I am!” Korx laughed, “A thousand years of stuff you don't need to know about. Would you like to have to share your knowledge with a boy from the year 1000 AD?”

“You could share it, or I could just _take_ it!” Kyle threatened him.

 _That's it!_ The Other spoke up in Kyle's mind, silencing every Kyle that ever was, or would yet be. _We are Eclipse! Just take the information that you need!_

 _NO!_ Kyle told him, concentrating, and silencing the final voice in his head.

“I don't think your mind is strong enough to handle it!” Korx retorted.

“Guys,” Kenny cut in.

Kyle glanced at Korx's watch. “It's something to do with the Melting Clock Paradox,” Kyle mused, “Something you did, the last time you were here. You were really scared that I was going to figure it out, but then you go and actually pull one off, right in front of me?”

“I've been here lots of times,” Korx grinned, evading the question. “C'mon, Kyle, can't a guy visit his buddies?”

“It's not like you live right down the block!” Kenny exclaimed.

“Actually, I do,” Korx shrugged. “South Park is still here, and I live right over there,” Korx pointed across the way to the burnt out cheese shoppe. “It's a real temporal energy saver.”

“Then why was the first doorway out on 285?” Kenny asked.

“That's what you get when you fire blind, no target,” Korx shrugged.

Kyle shrugged too. “OK, fine! You came back, you brought something here, and that's got something to do with all this!” Kyle snapped his fingers as it all began to make sense to him. He wasn't trying to invade Korx's mind this time, but the information was still coming to him somehow. “That's it, isn't it? You're _not_ planning an invasion! You're planning to set off a Melting Clock Paradox at the precise moment of the wreck that kills Tweek!”

“And here I thought you were all just stupid savages!” Korx smiled, clapping his hands.

“A red herring,” Kenny snorted.

“What's that?” Kyle asked.

“It's a false plot device, used to throw off the reader of a story. In the _**Harry Potter**_ series, Dudley Dursley beat up a boy named Mark Evans. 'Evans' was Lily Potter's maiden name. The fandom went nuts over Mark Evans, but he was a red herring. For the first several books, Professor Snape's hatred of Harry was a red herring as well.”

“It's hard to get used to you being so damn smart,” Kyle reminded Kenny.

“Thanks, I think!” Kenny grinned. He looked back at Korx. “So why'd you do it, then? And why are we still having visions and dreams of Tweek's tombstone?”

“Because I haven't tried to intervene yet, Kenny,” Korx sighed, “You're not thinking in four dimensions, OK? Everything that happens has to have a first time, you know.” Korx sighed. He sat back down next to Clyde. “I can't hold this for much longer, my watch gets hot,” he explained. “Let's just say, you wouldn't wanna give a tablet or phone to a kid from the year 1000, OK? We're messing with something big here, guys,” Korx sighed. “And let's just say, like I told you, that I might _need_ someone from this time – for later. Remember what I said about you guys having kids, grandkids, and all that?”

Kyle and Kenny nodded.

“I don't wanna be rude. I like you guys, OK? But I've said it before, Kenny's been like a bull in china shoppe. When the timeline changed that once, and a lot of us got wiped out of existence, well,” Korx sighed, as if thinking how to explain it. “It's like the paradox in Stephen King's _**The Dark Tower**_ , OK? Jake was, wasn't, was, wasn't, was. It nearly drove Roland nuts, remember? Well, when it's you, it drives _you_ even nuttier!”

“You're not supposed to be here,” Kenny concluded, and that familiar chill passed through the immobilized room again.

“No,” Korx confessed.

Both Kyle's and Kenny's jaws dropped. “Dude! This isn't like taking your mom's car out for a joyride!” Kyle gasped. “You came back in time without _permission_? I mean, you just sneaked off to play with a _time_ machine?!”

“No shit!” Kenny agreed, “You're playing with Time! Changing the future!”

“And you just sneaked out and _did_ it?!” Kyle gasped again, “Dude! That's nuts! WHY?!”

“Because it's still a fucking messy future!” Korx exclaimed, nearly knocking his drink over. “Recent events have made it a little better, Ziggy says, but it's still not all that great.” He paused, thinking. “And there's other factions, too.”

“Recent events?” Kenny wondered, “Other factions?”

“One more reason I haven't tried to save Tweek yet,” Korx added, looking at Tweek, and putting the towel back over his arm.

“Cartman,” Kyle snapped his fingers again. “When Stan and Butters had those so-called Future Selves! It was all a fraud with actors, but then at the end of it, a Cartman from the future _really_ came back to congratulate himself for cleaning up his life, and starting his own time travel company! But being the douche bag that he is, Cartman decided to do the opposite of what Future-Cartman said, and he wrecked his own future!”

“Shit! That was _real_?” Kenny wondered.

“You have NO clue what an epic disaster _that_ was!” Korx sniffed. “It really takes a special kind of psychopath to screw _himself_ over! The guys in Ziggy's lab got a real kick outta that one!”

“Are you saying that fucking _Cartman_ is another of the factions?” Kenny gasped, “Just what the fuck does _he_ have to do with it?”

“Well, he's been at the center of two time travel plots,” Korx reminded them. “Remember when his Trapper Keeper became sentient, and that cyborg from the future, Bill, came back to stop him? Then the hybrid Akira-like Cartman-Trapper Being ate Rosie O'Donnell, and died of it?”

“Oh, shit,” Kenny groaned. “Cartman with time travel abilities?”

“Cartman's stuck in jail,” Kyle reminded them.

“He won't be in there forever,” Korx pointed out, “Although you busting him early was a nice touch, as far as cleaning up the future,” Korx added.

“Saved Tweek and Craig some heartache,” Kenny nodded. “I nailed Cartman more than a few times, harassing them.”

“And who is Ziggy?” Kyle asked.

“The hybrid supercomputer and AI that runs this thing,” Korx held up his hand, where his watch was still glowing blue. He touched it, and the display shifted. He touched it again, as if the face were a touchscreen, and it shut off. “We've got about a minute or two now,” Korx explained, “Before the Paradox ends.”

“That thing runs off of that special form of cobalt, doesn't it?” Kyle surmised. “The one that's mounted under Timmy's borrowed wheelchair here, and the lump of that stuff that you gave Tweek last time you were here?”

“Very good, Eclipse!” Korx grinned. “It's essential for setting temporal targets, where to land, you know. Figure that out all by yourself?”

“No,” Kyle replied coldly, his guard still up. “So, are you _still_ planning to kill me?” Kyle had to ask, feeling as if that question had gotten the attention of the – what to call it? – The Chorus? The Others? Kyle-to-the-nth-power?

“Eclipse,” the choral voices softly whispered in Kyle's mind.

“I don't wanna kill you,” Korx shook his head, “Although, logically, it _would_ be the best thing to do. You were good to me, Kyle,” Korx looked at Kenny again. “A lot of the locals here bullied me, you know. About our parents taking all your jobs. But you never did. Still, you're a dangerous creature, Kyle. Fifty grandkids from now, in about a thousand years, and we'll be due for another Eclipse – not you, of course – to come along.”

“Since I can't leave the span of my own lifetime?” Kyle sighed.

Korx nodded. “You just now realized it?”

Kyle nodded back. “It's silly, but honestly, I was scared that I was going to live forever.”

“Welcome to my world,” Kenny sighed.

“Dude, we never knew until now,” Kyle put a hand on Kenny's arm, “Really! If we had, we'd have...” Kyle swallowed hard.

“It's OK, Kyle,” Kenny patted his hand. “And this future Eclipse-persona, whoever it is, will be discovered – and killed?” Kenny concluded, looking back at Korx.

Korx nodded. The boys noticed that things were beginning to move again.

Time was resuming its normal speed.

“But why make us think you were the bad guy?” Kenny had to ask.

Korx shrugged. He also sniffled. “Would you have believed me, if I just came back, and said I wanted to help? If I came back and told you all this bad stuff?”

“Yes,” Kyle nodded, at the same time that Kenny said “No.”

“Remember the _**Terminator**_ movies?” Korx smiled wanly, as things suddenly snapped back up to speed.

 _Which means that the Eclipse, or rather the person in a thousand years with my powers, isn't me!_ Kyle realized, as time snapped back into flow.

He forgot all about Korx for a moment, as he ran to Chef and hugged him.

“What's wrong, Children?” Chef asked, holding Kyle in one arm as he bent down to hug Kenny with the other. “I mean, I know you little crackers all upset, an' still sneakin' back over the elementary for lunch, but I had no idea it was _this_ bad? You want me to try and transfer to the junior high cafeteria?”

Kyle just held on and cried.

“Guys, what's wrong with Kyle?” Stan asked around the table, “He acts like he hasn't seen Chef in years, or something?”

“You ought to know, Stan,” Tweek told him, sitting down next to Craig.

“Yeah, aren't you his best friend?” Craig added.

“Not for the past couple'a years, I guess,” Stan admitted. “I dunno.”

“What happened, Stan?” Clyde asked, nibbling at another of the specially made pastries. “You two used to be tight?”

Stan just stared at Kyle. “You have any ideas, Korx? I mean, you're from the future, after all?” Stan asked him.

“Sorry, we didn't keep individual biographies of all you guys,” Korx replied, “Wish I had, though. I missed you guys, you know.”

“Well, couldn't you just come back, _whenever_?” Clyde asked, looking confused.

“It's probably not that easy,” Kevin Stoley put in, as he walked up to the table with Scott Malkinson. “Hey, thanks for the invite, Craig!”

“No problem, Dude,” Craig shrugged, “I mean, Tweek can only go so long, before he hits geek-overload, you know!” Craig laughed.

“He can be such a nerd,” Tweek sighed, as he sat down and sipped at his drink, stirring it with a cinnamon stick and getting whipped cream all over his nose and upper lip again.

“I think you do that on purpose,” Craig smiled at him, as his phone rang.

“Is it safe this time?” Token asked, as the screen lit up with a Facetime window. Distracted by Token, the boys chatted with him about Switzerland, when he'd be home, and what he'd been doing. Token was especially excited to see Korx, and hoped that he could stay until Token got home.

“He's got a time machine, Token!” Clyde reminded them happily, “It's not like he can't come back, if you miss him this time!”

“I still just can't believe this, Kenny,” Chef was saying, as he sat down, a few tables over from the other boys chatting with Token. Around the shoppe, others were playing video games, watching movies, or helping themselves to the buffet bar.

“Yeah, well, I guess my Dad was bound to do something like this, eventually,” Kenny admitted, his face perhaps a whiter shade of pale than Kyle's.

“It's been a strange holiday season,” Chef agreed. “You, Butters, Eric? Is he still in jail? I heard that Mysterion caught him cutting someone's tires?”

Kyle nodded. “Red-handed, and it was on Craig's Corvette.”

“I dunno what kinda crazy cracker buys a twelve year old a Corvette,” Chef sniffed. “This probably ain't gonna end well, Children!”

“Tell me about it,” Kenny sighed, glancing over to see Karen and Tricia and a couple of their friends giving Ike's Gang a hard time at one of the video game setups. He watched Ike and Firkle sitting there playing _**Call of Duty**_ together, and smiled. He nudged Kyle's ribs, and Kyle smiled too.

“Oh! Use the Uzi!” Teddy was cheering them on.

“Don't you have some ladies to make sweet love to?” Kyle finally asked Chef, although he felt like he could have sat there all night, listening to Chef's sage advice and interesting stories.

“Nawww, they flight wuz grounded,” Chef replied, “Big ol' storm comin' in, you know,” he smiled at them. “Besides, it's nice to spend some time with you boys. The elementary just ain't the same without you!”

“You mean without us destroying it?” Kenny laughed.

“Chef, you want a drink?” Butters asked nervously.

“Somethin' goin' around, Children?” Chef asked, “You all three look paler than normal? An' that ain't sayin' much!” He laughed.

Butters blinked a few times. He remembered Kyle's eulogy for Chef, but he also remembered Chef being incremental in busting up the Super Adventure Club.

“It's very confusing,” Butters blurted out.

“Oh, just get some black coffee, hit it with a big caramel shot, shoot some whipped cream on the top, and sprinkle some nutmeg and ginger on it!” Chef replied, missing Butters' reference, and glancing over at the other table. “Who'da ever thought?” He smiled.

“What?” Kenny asked.

“Tweek,” Chef shrugged, “I swear, that boy should'a had a heart attack in fifth grade!”

“I think Craig prevented that,” Kyle nodded, feeling as if his head were suddenly a balloon, and floating away from his body. _No, I think I prevented that,_ Kyle reminded himself. He heard voices again, but not the voices of all those other Kyles. No, these were adults. Frightened adults.

The coffee shoppe dissolved away, replaced by a hospital.

“ _Let's get a tube in him, twelve lead, get to bagging him!”_

“ _Lost his pulse!”_

“ _BP's gone flat!”_

“ _V-fib!” A nurse yelled, as the monitor went wild._

“ _He's going into cardiac arrest!” Someone else shouted, as the straps were undone and Thomas pulled his son out of the way._

_A doctor began CPR._

Kyle found himself standing in the corridor of the hospital, looking through a window into the E.R. He'd been there enough times to recognize it, after all.

“ _Epi's on board!”_

“ _Charge to 100, he's pretty small!”_

“ _CLEAR!”_

Even through the glass and closed doors, Kyle could hear the defibrillator discharging. He saw Tweek's body convulse.

“ _Still flatline!”_

“ _Get the lidocaine, another shot of epi!”_

“ _Charge to 200!”_

“ _CLEAR!”_

“ _Oh my God, my baby!”_

“ _Asystole,” someone else said._

“ _Atropine, and charge to 360!”_

“ _DOCTOR!”_

“ _CLEAR!”_

“ _Still asystole.”_

“ _All right, thoracotomy tray! MOVE!”_

“But how old is he?” Kyle whispered to himself, turning to see Craig Tucker in his father's arms, sobbing. He saw Tweek's mom, transfixed by the scene, tears streaking her face. Kyle wondered how she could be so still, hardly trembling at all. He wondered how his own mother might react.

In his mind, he heard one of the Kyles-Past: _The damn statue is still there! WHY IS IT STILL THERE?!_

_The Trans-time Dimension, since I'm not around for the crash._

_I'm not there for the car crash._

_And neither is Tweek, if he dies here._

_Yet._

“But if Tweek dies in a crash on 285, then he can't die of a heart attack when he's only thirteen or fourteen?” Kyle told himself, still unable to tell how old Tweek might be. Kyle thought there might be another of those Melting Clock Paradoxes, as time seemed to slow down as he looked back at Tweek.

Still small. So small.  
No whiskers. A face unmarred by razors.  
No armpit or chest hair.  
Tweek's blond hair was longer.

“Soon,” Kyle decided, looking at the early hour on the wall clock. He wished there'd been a calendar. “I need to know!”

“Christmas break, eighth grade,” Kyle-Then told him, as Kyle-Prime jerked his head around to see a gang of boys and girls bursting through the main E.R. Doors.

“He started showing subtle signs of trouble, summer after seventh grade!” Kyle-at-the-door shouted, but it seemed that only Kyle-Prime could hear him. “We prevented the first heart attack, that morning at Craig's house, but all we did was keep him from getting scared into it! It's not like we repaired the physical damage that set it off!”

“Shit!” Kyle-Prime swore, as he realized the mistake he'd made when he'd rewound Time on that Hanukkah morning.

Tweek Tweak's heart was – probably due to meth – damaged.

“It's a bad valve, causing murmur, which is going to blow his aorta when the valve sticks, combined with high BP!” Another Kyle spoke up in Kyle-Prime's head. “Tweek could still have this attack!”

“This isn't the attack we prevented!” Yet another Kyle added. Their voices then began to repeat and blend, and Kyle-Prime knew.

He _knew_.

Behind him, Craig was sobbing.  
A few tables over, Craig was laughing.

“I think it was the New Year's after we busted that club, me and Spantaneous Bootay were … Kyle?” Chef gave the boy a shake, bringing him back, “What's wrong now?”

“Get him an espresso, Kyle's not a night owl!” Kenny grinned, covering for him, knowing that look on Kyle's face all too well.

“Chef, could I have a word?” PC Principal asked, as he approached the table. “This'll only take a minute, boys!”

“It's OK,” Kyle shrugged, shaking Chef's hand, “It's just … always great to see you!” The adults moved to a far table to talk.

“Uhm, whad'ja see?” Butters asked breathlessly.

“Tweek's going to have a heart attack, Christmas break, next year!” Kyle told them, “Kyle-Then says he's got a bad valve, a murmur, and-”

“He's going to die?” Kenny interrupted, and Kyle nodded. “That makes no sense! You reversed that, back on Hanukkah? Remember?”

“Multiverse?” Kyle wondered. Then he shook his head. “No. That was a short do-over of _this_ timeline. Tweek's still got a bad heart.”

“If you're gonna ask Kevin about Multiverses, don't bring me along,” Kenny palmed his face, “ _One_ timeline is enough to worry about!” He finished his drink. “Shit, this _all_ we need!”

“I thought you weren't gonna try an' use that power, though?” Butters wondered, “And if he's got a … oh, hamburgers! You gotta tell someone, Kyle!”

“I didn't try, and I will!” Kyle replied, “It just happened to me when Chef mentioned Tweek!”

“What's that? You guys need something?” Tweek asked, as he came by to wipe the tables where Ike's Gang had been eating.

“Tweek, let it go, it's a party, man!” Kenny told him, noting the way that Tweek rubbed his left shoulder when he turned just so.

“Oh, I think I pulled something the other day, putting stock up,” Tweek explained, taking a seat. “Kenny, if you knew something about me, like you did with Scott or Timmy, you'd tell me, right?”

Kenny didn't hesitate to lie right to Tweek's face. “Yeah, I would, Tweek. So, you believe me, then?”

_Sure, Tweek, let's see – you've got a ticking timebomb for a heart, and if you live to sixteen, you'll die in a car crash on 285, flattened by a semi, so you can send me hurtling back through time, and haunt my dreams forever!_

Tweek fidgeted a bit, but he didn't seem to be nervous at all. In fact, he looked quite calm and happy.

“Nice hair band?” Kyle pointed out, hoping to change the subject.

“Tricia made it, Christmas,” Tweek blushed. “Looks kinda gay, huh?”

“Just a little, but if you're gay, then it's OK, then, ain't it?” Butters asked, nodding. “I like that sweater!”

“The Gnomes, man!” Tweek squeaked, “I think it was a peace offering!”

“You gotta get your blood pressure down, Tweek,” Kenny then put in, which made everyone look at him.

“I know, I just started the meds, around when you guys got hurt,” Tweek admitted, “Lisinopril, Ativan, Lasix, Digoxin.”

“Those are heart meds, Tweek,” Kyle told him.

“They made me feel like a zombie, at first,” Tweek confessed.

“You gotta stay on the meds, Tweek,” Kenny said, “How do you think Craig's gonna take it, if you have a heart attack?”

Tweek just sniffled and looked down at his shoes. “I know.”

The noise level of the room had been steadily increasing, so the boys had to raise their voices a bit. It was difficult to hear what was going on at the table where Korx was sitting with the others, but it seemed that Craig was telling Token about Christmas.

“I'll send you a picture,” Craig was saying, “I sure as hell didn't bring it with me!”

“So what _did_ you get each other?” Kyle asked, grinning, hoping to change the subject.

“If you don't mind?” Kenny put in.

“Craig got me this vintage model kit of the _**USS Enterprise**_ , the aircraft carrier, from _**Star Trek IV**_ ,” Tweek smiled, “And I got him this … well, actually, Korx brought it. It's a big chunk of cobalt! It's a meteorite from the year 3000! I thought Craig was gonna shit himself when he saw it!” Tweek pulled out his phone and showed them a picture.

Kyle and Kenny exchanged a look.

“That's so cool!” Butters gasped. “It's blue!”

“Korx said it doesn't exist on Earth, yet!” Tweek added proudly. “It's a rare combination of elements!”

“Hey, Tweek!” Craig then called, “Get over here! I need a partner for _**Risk**_! Clyde's gonna play with Token, and me an' you are gonna pair up against Jimmy and Timmy!”

“What's 'Risk'?” Kenny asked.

“A board game where you try and take over the world!” Butters answered, grinning. “I...I always lose, though!”

“I know that feeling,” Kenny said under his breath, watching as Tweek went back to the other table. He sat with Craig in a chair for larger customers, almost in his lap. Kenny reached for Butters' hand.

“A board game. Wow!” Kyle shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“You still like board games, Grandpa!” Ike teased him, as he and his gang came by, headed for the buffet again.

“We gotta tell him,” Kyle decided.

“Yeah, I know,” Kenny sighed, holding Butters' hand just a bit tighter.

*** meanwhile ***

“Wake up, you worthless, fat fuck!” A voice snarled, as the padded cell on the second floor of _**The South Park Mental House**_ lost the blue glow from just a moment before.

Eric Cartman squirmed in his snug straitjacket, unaware of the _**Star Trek**_ -style injection spray that had just been shot into his carotid artery.

“I said wake up, dammit! _He_ could be here any second, if he ever gets wind of this!” The voice repeated.

Cartman opened his eyes to see a tall figure moving in the shadows. “OK, OK,” he rasped, sitting up on the padded floor. He looked around the dimly lit room. There was always a nightlight on, he knew. But up until that moment, that had been about all he'd known. That, and the screaming.

Screaming until his voice had gone.

“Suck on this,” the stranger ordered, shoving a sweet tablet into his mouth, “It'll help.”

“Nice,” Cartman groaned. After a moment, he asked, “So who the hell are you?”

“Well, I'm not a figment of your imagination,” the stranger replied. “Up until a minute ago, you were a raving lunatic. You should be better now.” He paused. “Well, as good as you're going to get, I'd say.”

“Wh-what the hell happened?” Cartman asked, looking all around, “The fuck am I doing in here?” He apparently recognized his surroundings from the time they'd had Kyle committed.

“You had a run-in with a new Superhero called 'Eclipse',” The stranger explained, “And he's the real thing.”

“He...he did something to my head?” Cartman asked, more than said.

“He _did_. He dumped the memories of an altered timeline into your mind. Your puny brain couldn't deal with it, so it shut down.”

“AY!”

“Well, that's a start, I guess,” the stranger sighed. “What he did was tantamount to rape, only mentally. Things are going to go wrong in the future, Eric, and you're to blame. At least, for some of those things. You're not supposed to be in here!”

“Fucking tell ME about it!” Cartman snapped, as his mind began to clear and his throat began to feel normal again. “If fucking Mysterion hadn't got me, cutting Craig's tires-”

“That was a stupid thing to do,” the stranger interrupted. “You've already blown it once, Eric. We won't tolerate it again. Just so you know, the future can – and is – getting along well enough without _you!_ ”

“You from that dumbass company that tried to trick Stan and Butters that once?” Cartman asked, “'cause I ain't that stupid!”

“Yes, actually, you are,” the stranger retorted. “You were a very important figure in the future once, Eric, but you blew it. It's too late for that Cartman from the future, but it's never too late to mold a new one. Our faction is very interested in you.”

“Why?”

“Because you've got talent, Eric. You're a genius, actually, but you're just too fat and lazy and spoiled to know it!”

“He showed me things,” Cartman mused, trying to recall all the things he'd seen when Eclipse had attacked him. “Do you know who that butt-fucker is?”

“No,” the stranger answered, “No one does. At least, anyone that Eclipse _thinks_ might know, _can't_ tell anyone. They end up in worse shape than you did.”

Cartman turned his head as he heard a faint beep, and saw the stranger playing with what looked like a large wristwatch he was wearing.

“The hell is that?”

“A Stoley-X-1a Temporal Discriminator, Mark 2,” the stranger replied, “It prevents temporal ripples from distorting the present. Well, the time slot that I call that, when I'm in it.”

“Stoley? As in _Kevin_ Stoley?” Cartman wondered. “He's such a nerd!”

“He's going to be very important in the future.”

“He's a nerd,” Cartman repeated.

“For now,” The stranger agreed. “It's nearly New Year!”

“Whooppee fuckin' do!” Cartman snarled, “Now, are you gonna get me outta here, or not?”

“No,” the stranger replied bluntly. “You got yourself into this, but you'll get yourself out of it just fine. Trust me.”

“Fuck you!” Cartman complained.

“You're welcome, for the repair job I did to your psyche,” the stranger reminded him. “Or would you rather stay insane? A shot of cortical analeptic isn't that hard to disable. Medicine has come a long way in a thousand years.”

Cartman gasped. “You're a Gooback?”

“I prefer 'Futurist', and those you knew as 'Goobacks' either don't exist anymore, or have all been confined and suitably...punished?” The stranger seemed to ask the last word.

Cartman took a moment to process that statement. “So, they were criminals?”

“We view them as such, yes.”

“Why?” Cartman asked.

“Because their actions wreaked havoc on our time period.”

“Oh!” He paused, smacking his lips, which were dry. The stranger offered him a drink from a small flask from inside his coat. As he moved out of the shadows, Cartman could see that he was indeed a Futurist.

“They're criminals, and you have one of our most-wanted running loose in your year,” the stranger told him. “Our faction is not pleased.”

“What's he doing here?” Cartman asked, as his mind continued to clear. “Damn! I fucking hate this! I feel like I don't know what's real, or what really happened!”

“Welcome to my world,” the stranger nodded. “Now, do you see why we take such a dim view of unauthorized time travel?”

“I think so! You must really hate those guys!” Cartman mused, beginning to feel like his old self again. “Fucker made me miss Christmas!”

“No, Eclipse did that. He must really hate you?” The stranger wondered.

Cartman froze. His eyes went wide. “Yes, I think he does!”

Cartman remembered the first appearance of Mysterion, and what he'd said: “Kyle Broflovski hates Eric Cartman. Are you saying that you're Eric Cartman?”

“Well, if you suspect who he is, don't let on, or you'll end up lobotomized, if not brain dead! He's a dangerous criminal as well, and there's one hell of a bounty on his head!” The stranger advised.

“What about this other … faction – you called it? Who's that?”

“His name is Korx, and he's twelve years old,” the stranger answered, his voice flat and cold. “We have reason to believe he's working with one of his old friends in this time period. Someone he met when he was a Time Refugee. His father built the original quantum accelerator that brought the so-called Goobacks here the first time. It seems the boy liked it here so much, that he decided to come back for a number of visits. The temporal ripples he set off, until he stole a Discriminator,” the stranger held up his wrist again, “Made a bit of a mess of history, without even trying.”

“Maybe he just wanted to see his friends,” Cartman sighed, and for just a moment, he appeared genuinely hurt. Then his expression shifted again. “Who's he working for?” Cartman demanded.

“I wouldn't say if I knew, which I don't – yet. And if I did, I wouldn't admit it. One thing that we know he did, as we tracked him to the shift-point, was to rescue a man named Jerome McElroy, Chef, from some pedophilic adventure club. But I'm sure you have some ideas as to whom Korx would seek out, then?” The stranger suggested, chuckling. “You know this time period, Eric. We don't, but for the major historical events.” He then laughed.

It was a frightening laugh, even to Eric Cartman.

“What do you need _me_ to do?” Cartman finally asked.

“Find the factions here, Korx and his associates, and stop them.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

There was a glow of pale blue light, and then the stranger was gone.

“Well you could have let me out, you retard!” Cartman shouted.

*

As Eric Cartman was having his chat with The Stranger, all eyes at Tweek and Craig's party were watching the TV for the New Year's countdown. Those who had nodded off were awakened to watch the ball drop, and many of the older children had paired up again. There had even been dancing, with PC Principal and Strong Woman teaching romantic slow dances. All with signed consent forms, of course.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

As “Auld Lang Syne” began to play on the TV, the couples all exchanged kisses. Outside, the sounds of gunfire and fireworks filled the town.

Behind the bar, two boys holding hands watched nervously. Clyde and Bebe, Scott and Lisa, Jimmy and Annie, and every other couple were happily cuddling, toasting the New Year. Even Timmy was blushing from his kiss from Red. Others had gone back to the cleared dance floor.

_What if he wants to kiss me, Kenny? I mean, really KISS me? You know?_

_You got a stuffed animal? Practice on that!_

Tweek had overcome that fear long ago, but there was another problem.

“We've never, uhm, I mean … not in public, like _that_ – before?” Tweek fumbled.

“So what?” Craig shrugged, pulling him close and clasping his mouth over Tweek's.

Stunned, Tweek relaxed and leaned into it. He dropped his bar rag and moaned.

The room exploded with applause.

“Damn!” Chef gasped, wide-eyed.

“All right, all right!” PC Principal shouted, clapping his hands, “We'll need to see those signed consent forms, and if you plan to -”

“Oh, STOP!” Strong Woman laughed, her arm about his waist. “OK, kids! It's midnight! Let's help clean up, and get you all home!”

“Happy New Year,” Kenny whispered, as he leaned over to kiss Butters.

“Happy New Year,” Butters replied, seemingly unconcerned about kissing Kenny in public.

No one noticed, them, however.

No one but for Kyle.

Kyle just sighed.

“Whassa'matter?” Korx asked, “You know, you should really pay more attention to someone you think might want to kill you.”

“I knew you were back there,” Kyle replied. “And you said you didn't want to kill me.” Kyle sighed again. “I watched the ball drop on TV about three times already. Kinda takes the fun out of it.”

“And you believed me?” Korx asked.

“I know when I'm being lied to, unlike some of us,” Kyle retorted, sighing again. “You might have a brain a thousand years more evolved than mine, but it's got a problem, Korx.”

“What's that?”

“It leaks,” Kyle informed him. “You're easy to read.”

“Maybe that's because you already got inside my head?”

“Could be. I'm sorry,” Kyle offered, and the sincerity in his own eyes seemed to be enough for Korx.

“I have to go,” Korx mumbled, looking away.

“Why? You clearly don't want to,” Kyle told him, “And you're scared.”

“Just stop, OK?” Korx snapped, but Kyle could hear it in his voice.

Korx was afraid.

“You didn't come back here with that rock, just for Craig's Christmas present, or to have a nice party tonight,” Kyle told him, reaching into his pocket slowly.

“I can't stay long, or they'll find me,” Korx admitted, fingering his glowing watch. “I'm not supposed to be here, remember?”

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed.

Then, in one quick move, Kyle spun, brought his arm up, and jammed a Mysterang into the Stoley-X-1a Temporal Discriminator Mark 1 on Korx's wrist.

The device shorted out, sizzling and sparking. It then shimmered and vanished, taking the Mysterang with it, and leaving a second-degree burn on Korx's arm.

Korx's eyes went wide.

“Stay a while. We'll get that looked at,” Kyle smiled.

“ _ **You're insane**_!” Korx gasped, “You just fucking _trapped_ me here! **Now**!”

“Yep,” Kyle smiled again.

“Kyle?” Kenny gasped, as Butters looked faint.

“If we're going on this ride, then _you're_ coming with us!” Kyle told Korx. “Besides, you said you liked it here?”

“I do, but I... I mean, it's that I...” Korx looked down at his lap. “It's gonna be thirty years before Kevin even comes up with-”

“Don't tell us, and don't tell _him_ ,” Kenny advised, his face going hard, and his voice going rough as The Other took over. “Think about this, Korx: what if something happens to Kevin Stoley? What if he's like that kid on _**Meet the Robinsons**_ , and swears to _never_ invent that thing?”

Butters fetched a clean towel and some ice for Korx's wrist.

“Thanks!” Korx looked hard at Kenny. “Good point,” he admitted.

“Look at it this way, little buddy,” Butters assured Korx, “If they can't come back after you, they can't ground you!”

“Good point,” Korx had to agree.

“But are you _sure_ that no one can do that? Come back for you?” Kenny asked.

“I doubt it,” Korx shrugged, “Kinda hard to track me now. All the cobalt crystals can do for them is set a landing point. They can't pinpoint me.”

“You stole that rock for Tweek, didn't you?” Kenny asked, and Korx nodded.

“So long as you stay off-grid,” Kyle agreed. “Guess you can stay with me.”

“Oh?” Korx wondered.

“You know the old saying, 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'?” Kyle asked, as Kenny just gaped at him.

“So which one am I?” Korx had to ask.

“I dunno,” Kyle shrugged, “But we're closer to the end of the game, with another player out of it.”

“Who says I'm out of it?” Korx retorted, picking up his backpack, which had been under the other table. “At least I brought some stuff.”

“Such as?” Kenny asked.

“A fucking first aid kit, for starters!” Korx exclaimed, as he got that out and used what he called a 'dermal patch' to repair the burn on his wrist.

Butters was yawning as the Strongly Principled Couple came over with Aaron Hagen.

“You ready to go?” PC Principal asked, giving Korx a look. “Do I know you?”

“No, sir. I'm new in town,” Korx sighed. “I'm staying with Kyle, I guess.” He then took off his hat, twisting it in his hands. The couple stared at him for a moment. “I have alopecia totalis, sir,” Korx added. “I can't grow hair.”

“He's homeless, sir,” Kenny cut in, “He just wandered in. Tweek knows him. He's, uhm, been taking care of him.”

“What's your name, son?” PC Principal asked.

“Keith,” Korx replied, as Kyle slipped off to tell the others about what they were doing.

 


	24. Korx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Korx is trapped in the present, and Kyle realizes just how scared the boy is. But Korx has secrets about himself, and his real agenda, as he opens up to Kyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes into discussion on gender, sexuality, and sexual identity versus physical gender as determined by DNA at birth. Also transgender topics. Korx is non-binary, which he reveals to Kyle. Genitals, sexual preferences, and body type versus the mental image one has are discussed. Korx gives a brief history of certain eunuchs. If this bothers you, well, you were warned.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 24  
Korx**

“'Keith'?” Kyle wondered, as the Strongly Principled Couple and Chef were discussing what they should do with Korx.

“It was the best I could come up with on short notice, a K-name, and you've already got a 'Kevin',” Korx shrugged, checking the patch on his wrist. For just a moment, his eyes went wide, and his expression looked lost. It was only for a moment, but just long enough for Kyle to notice it. Korx/Keith looked at him again. “Don't say you're sorry either,” he added grimly.

“I wasn't going to,” Kyle replied honestly.

“I don't remember them,” Korx jerked his head in the direction of the couple. “They must have come along after I got wiped out of existence?”

“Yeah, some time later,” Butters agreed. “I mean, uhm, I don't think you need to worry about anyone but us recognizing you. Well, maybe Chef?”

“Chef won't care,” Kenny disagreed, “And didn't he die before Korx and them showed up from the future?”

“I don't remember?” Kyle wondered, resisting the urge to check in with all of those other “himselves”.

“Sooooo, now that we've got him, what do we _do_ with him?” Kenny asked, as some of the others looked on. Several of them were helping Tweek and Craig clean up, even though the shoppe would be closed for New Year's Day. Tweek looked like he was dragging, and that he was going to need that day off.

“I'm not helpless, Craig!” Tweek was complaining, as Craig seemed to be interrupting whatever work Tweek was doing to take it over.

“Look, Babe, you went all out to throw this party, let us clean it up! You're the host. Your job is done for the night, Honey. Please?” Craig added hopefully.

“He knows,” Kyle mumbled to Kenny.

“Of course he knows, he's his boyfriend!” Kenny whispered back.

“Yeah, I am kinda beat,” Tweek admitted, slumping on the bar where he sat at a high stool.

“Aw, c'mon, Amigo! The night is young!” David Rodriguez was saying, mimicking slashing a “z” with an imaginery sword.

Tweek just yawned at him. “Go right ahead!”

“Well, I don't think anyone is going to be too upset with Korx being here,” Kevin Stoley offered, as he came by with a dishpan, collecting dirty dishes. “I mean, there's just one of him this time, and there were hundreds last time.”

“You remember _that_?” Korx asked, sounding surprised.

Kevin shrugged. “Sure? Why wouldn't I?” He blinked. “Oh! The time travel thing! You're worried about creating a paradox?”

“Nerd,” Butters coughed the word into hand, grinning. Kevin put the pan down and smacked his arm playfully. The boys laughed about it.

“You have no idea,” Kenny sighed under his breath.

“I'd be worried about getting grounded, Korx,” Butters put in.

“So what happened to your cool watch?” Kevin asked, as no one else had any idea just how important that the device had been.

“Must have shorted out,” Korx lied, glaring at Kyle.

“Wait a minute,” Clyde cut in, “Wasn't that thing what you used to travel in time? I saw you messing with it, last time you were here.”

Korx nibbled at his lower lip for a moment, looking around the room at those remaining. _They were my friends. They're still your friends._ “Yeah.”

Kevin Stoley looked as if someone had smacked him in the head with a frying pan. “Oh, shit, Dude! Does that mean you're stuck here?” He gasped.

“'fraid so,” Korx admitted, “I mean, until someone misses me, that is. I mean, it's a time machine, right?” He grinned, holding out his hands.

“Korx?” Kevin asked, noticing the look on his friend's face.

“No one's coming to pick you up?” Clyde wondered, as he then realized what he just said. “Oh, you sneaked out?”

“Yep,” Korx sighed, “And it's not like I can phone home.”

“All right, listen up!” PC Principal raised his voice, “Strong Woman and myself don't really care for the foster system, Bro's, so we've made a decision.”

Butters and Aaron just stared at him. Kevin fled with his dishes.

“Not what I meant,” the man corrected himself. “I'm sure that Aaron and Kenny remember what it was like, being held somewhere, waiting for placement?”

“And then getting dumped in a house of horrors, sir,” Kenny put in, vividly recalling the basement torture chamber of the Weatherhead house.

“Kyle, do you think that your parents will mind, taking Keith in for a bit?” Strong Woman asked, “After all, with Kenny and Leopold having stayed a bit, and since they're registered?” She gave Korx/Keith a soft smile. “But if you'd rather be placed with persons of, ah, more color? We don't wish to offend!”

“That is a decision for Keith to make, Dear, yes!” PC Principal agreed, “We don't want him to be uncomfortable.”

“That'd be great!” Kyle smiled, clapping Korx on the shoulder. “With me, I mean!”

Korx looked like he'd just been handed a death sentence, and in that touch, Kyle knew why.

Korx was terrified.

Kyle thought about checking in with with some of this other selves, but decided to wait until he was alone. After all, it just wouldn't do for anyone else to see it, if he phased out, even partially.

“I wonder how Detective Yates is gonna react to this one?” Kenny wondered.

“Just tell him the truth, children,” Chef advised.

The boys laughed at that one. Still, they had to wonder if Chef remembered that Korx was from a thousand years in the future, or not.

“Which is?” Kenny asked.

“Some homeless children wanders in, what'cha gonna do?” Chef held out his hands, “You gots to take the children in!”

The boys all breathed a sigh of relief. Chef obviously didn't remember.

Then again, he probably didn't remember being dead, either.

When the shoppe was finally cleaned up and ready to close, Helen Tweak arrived to pick up Tweek and Craig. Tweek was leaning heavily on Craig as Helen locked the doors, once all the children had been picked up. Just saying his goodbyes and accepting all the thanks seemed to have done Tweek in. Craig was getting him buckled in, despite Tweek's mumbled protests.

“Call me if you wanna do something tomorrow?” Stan asked, as the boys were getting in the van.

“I think Tweek's gonna be sleeping in,” Craig replied, “But you can come over and help refurb Red Racer's starter and fly wheel with us!”

“He doesn't look too good?” Stan observed, as he closed the sliding door of the van. “Tweek, I mean?”

“I wasn't gonna say anything,” Kyle spoke up, “But I think you should know. Tweek's not well.”

“What do you mean, Kyle?” PC Principal asked, as they pulled out onto Main Street. “If there's sick student, faculty should be informed!”

“He's got a heart problem, sir,” Kyle replied. “He's on medication for it. I don't think we're supposed to know, though.”

“I wonder if Craig really knows?” Kenny asked, realizing that he had no memory of Tweek ever having had heart condition before. _Tweek never had a heart attack before,_ Kenny thought, _So, is this some sort of temporal fallout, then?_

“Uhm, well, I'd think he would,” Butters offered, “Seemed like every time Tweek even got up, Craig was goin' with him, and doin' everything for him.”

“Wow,” Stan breathed, as they pulled up at his house. “I guess...I guess you don't think about kids having stuff like that?” He gently punched Kyle's upper arm. “Call me if you get bored, OK? We're all off tomorrow. Well, today, I guess!”

“OK. Goodnight,” Kyle replied.

“You're been pretty quiet, Keith?” Strong Woman inquired, “Are you OK?”

“Yes, thank you. It's warm in here,” Korx answered, slipping into the role of homeless waif effortlessly. “I hope Tweek's OK.”

“You and me both,” Kenny added.

“He's a sweet kid,” PC Principal agreed, “But he's too high-strung. All that hypertension isn't good for a body, especially a kid's. I'm not surprised he's got a heart problem. But remember – be tactful about it, and don't bring it up, unless he does! You guys know CPR?”

“I do,” Kyle answered.

“Me too,” Korx added.

When they had dropped Kenny off at his house, they waited as he rolled up the new sidewalk. His brother, Kevin, met him at the door and waved. He pushed Kenny on in, then turned off the front light.

“Who'd'a though?” Kyle mumbled. “New Year's Eve, and no drunken bash at Kenny's house?”

“Not me,” Butters agreed.

“So, you remember both timelines?” Korx asked.

“Yep,” Butters sort of groaned, “It's confusing as hell!”

When they arrived at Kyle's house, they saw that the lights were still on. Kyle gathered up a groggy Ike in his arms, and they all went inside. Gerald and Sheila were still up, and as Korx had his hat on, they didn't immediately recognize him as a Futurist. The Strongly Principled Couple explained that Keith was a homeless boy, whom Tweek had been caring for covertly, who'd finally had the courage to admit it and get help. Kyle offered to put Ike to bed as the rest stayed to talk about it.

“You don't think he's a flight risk?” Gerald asked.

“No, sir, honestly,” Korx supplied, clutching his backpack and putting on his best 'sad puppy' face. He then made up a tale about how Tweek and Kenny were feeding him, with some help from David, and how they'd torn down the building in _**Sodosopa**_ that he'd been hiding in.

“I think it can wait until morning,” Sheila put in, noting that Aaron had nodded off and fallen over on Butters' lap. “The guest room is all ready. I'll give you and Kyle a little time, Keith, but I want you in bed no later than two!”

“He's not the only homeless kid in this town, you know,” Kyle added, as he came back downstairs.

“We can only save the world, one kid at a time,” PC Principal told him, as they took their leave. He gathered up a sleeping Butters and Aaron in his arms as if they were little more than sacks of groceries. The boys never even woke up as he carried them back out to the van.

“You really fucked me over, Kyle,” Korx then told him, once everyone else was in bed. “So, I get the guest room? Does the door lock?”

“How about we agree to _not_ try and kill each other?” Kyle offered.

Korx just shrugged. “Might not even matter. I may not even be here in the morning, once the ripples all hit.” Korx looked in his backpack. “You got a spare toothbrush?”

“You're stuck here, and you ask for a toothbrush?” Kyle asked in amazement.

“OK, how about a quantum phase analyzer, with a cobalt-54 crystal tuner?” Korx smirked.

“Point taken. You can take that outerwear off and stay a while?” Kyle offered, rolling his eyes, as he showed Korx around the house. “So, I guess you never, uhm, visited me?”

“ _Fuck_ no!” Korx snapped, which surprised Kyle. “Why would I come and hang out with someone I'm scared shitless of?”

Kyle's face fell. “I'm not like that,” Kyle paused. “Or, at least, I didn't used to be.”

“You destroyed by Discriminator, Kyle. You left me wide open to anyone from the future coming after me here. Not to mention leaving me vulnerable to the Ripple Effect. That, and now I'm a homeless kid in South Park Past, being taken in by the person I'm most scared of! Someone who just can – and did – get into my head and take what he wanted to know! It's not much fun being wiped out of existence either, and then coming back, you know. It's not instantaneous! It fucking HURTS!” Korx informed him, making Kyle remember where he'd heard that one before: Kenny.

“ _ **Try and fucking remember this time!” BANG!**_

“I'm sorry, it's just that I-” Kyle began.

“No, you're _not_ ,” Korx cut him off, as Kyle got him a new toothbrush from the cupboard. “I dunno what you were thinking, and I really don't care. You _trapped_ me here, Kyle. Even with Kevin's help, and Tweek's meteorite, it's gonna be another thirty or forty years before the tech is invented to run a Discriminator. Never mind how hard it's gonna be to find a hunk of iridium ore. Me being here could jeopardize Kevin Stoley, and -”

“Maybe change things for the better, more effectively,” Kyle cut Korx off as well. He watched the bald boy brush his teeth for a moment. “The Melting Clock thing wasn't the only thing I got from you, Korx, and I'm really sorry about that. I _**am**_! Your invasion thing was a good decoy, but like I said, you leak. You're not _supposed_ to be here. It was a lot like one of us taking our mom's car out for a joyride. You weren't supposed to have access to that time machine. That much I got out of your head. And yes, you're scared. I would be, too.” Kyle paused again. He put a hand on Korx's shoulder and handed him a small towel. Korx flinched. “But it's not _me_ you're scared of. Not that much.”

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Korx sniffled. “All I've got is my backpack, the contents, and the clothes on my back. I'm a thousand years more advanced than this world full of primitive savages, and I'm trapped here in a history that's gonna make my life hell, if I don't _do_ something about it!”

“You've got us,” Kyle mumbled, as the enormity of what he'd done to Korx began to soak in. _If he's not our ally, then he's got to be stopped. Destroy his watch, and trap him here. That way, he can't change anything else! He can't get rid of any of us! Shit, I might have been wrong, though!_ “I didn't think.”

“No, you didn't,” Korx agreed sadly. “You and Kenny might think you're real superheroes now, but you're limited. Just like everyone else, you _can_ be killed. Permanently. You _can_ fail. The outcomes of what you think are good deeds, might turn out to not be so. Look at all Kenny's been through, trying to help Tweek and Craig! And he's still trying! There's a big difference between Mysterion and Eclipse, Kyle. One wonders just how far you'd go, for something that didn't serve your own purpose?”

Kyle could only nod in shame as he thought about it.

Korx was right.

_Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and until Korx pointed it out, that was exactly what I was falling into! I was running amok with this Eclipse thing! Shit, look at what I did to Cartman!_

Then Korx snickered. He did pull his hat off, though. “Think your folks will buy the alopecia story?” He went to hang up his coat. “I might have to borrow some clothes. We're about the same size.” Korx sighed, suddenly changing the subject. “I guess all I can do is make the most of it.”

“Size small,” Kyle sighed, as they went to his room to look for clothes for Korx. The ones he was wearing were in need of a wash.

“Yeah, well, in an overcrowded society, it's logical to breed kids to be small. Less food, air, and living space required. Not that _I_ have to worry about it,” Korx explained.

“How so?” Kyle wondered, as he fetched some spare Terrance & Phillip pyjamas for Korx.

“Wow, these guys are historical, iconic literature, you know!” Korx gasped.

“Really?” Kyle wondered.

“No, not really. I was kidding. Never even heard of them,” Korx shrugged, as he kicked his shoes off and turned his back to Kyle.

Kyle caught it. “Is that a gesture of trust? I might stab you in the back, you know?” He sniffed.

“Not your style, rather, not Eclipse's style,” Korx replied, as he pulled his shirt off. Kyle hardly took notice, as they all showered together anyway after gym class and sports events. And while Korx looked to be well-built, Kyle didn't feel any kind of arousal. “I just didn't wanna scare you.”

“Scare me?” Kyle wondered, “You have a scar? It's OK, Dude, if you -”

Korx had pulled his socks off as Kyle was talking, then dropped his pants. He pulled off his underpants, then turned to face Kyle.

“...if you-” Kyle abruptly stopped talking, but it was the look on Korx's face as he'd turned around that stopped Kyle. It was a curious look, uncertain, and somewhat concerned. “What?” Kyle asked, holding out his hands, palms up. “You need a bath? You look OK to me. I don't care what color you are, Korx!” Kyle blinked. Then he noticed the small tattoo on Korx's chest, right between the nipples. It reminded Kyle of the symbols of the cartoon _**Hunter x Hunter,**_ in the end credits of the show: dots and dashes and other symbols of some foreign language.

“It's an ID tattoo, we all have them,” Korx explained. “People like me, I mean.”

“It's kinda cool looking,” Kyle admitted.

Korx then looked down.

So did Kyle.

For a moment, Kyle didn't react. Then he raised an eyebrow. He squinted a bit.

“Aw, _shit,_ Korx! Did you have... I mean...? I know Clyde had cancer, but haven't you guys cured-”

“It wasn't cancer,” Korx interrupted him again.

“Then where's your … _dick_ and _balls_?” Kyle gasped, studying Korx's lack of male genitals. “I thought you were a boy?”

“I'm genetically XY, which is medically 'male'. I have a prostate, but nothing on the outside. I don't have ovaries or a uterus, either, as I'm not female,” Korx informed him, as Kyle stared. Then Kyle blushed and looked away. “It's OK, Kyle,” Korx assured him, “You can look. I knew it'd surprise you, and I'm not ashamed of it. It's who and what I am.” He shrugged. “What? You guys change and shower all the time? This is just … me, OK?”

“Which … is?” Kyle fumbled. “That's just WRONG!” Kyle then blurted, “What _happened_ to you?”

“Nothing! OK, sit down,” Korx sighed, “This could take a while.” He shivered, then pulled on the flannel PJ's. He squirmed a bit. “These are nice and soft and warm! Thanks!” He closed his eyes and smiled. Kyle tossed him a balled pair of socks. They sat down on the bed, Kyle being confused over Korx's reaction to something as simple as PJ's.

“It's just...cotton, and like, washed with fabric softener?” Kyle attempted to make conversation, still stunned by what he'd just seen.

“Cotton species all died out around the year 2300,” Korx explained, folding his legs up into a Lotus position and rubbing his socked feet. “I guess there's little pleasures here, now, after all?” He smiled, running his hand over Kyle's blanket. He then took Kyle's hand. “So, you wanna know about my gender?”

Kyle nodded dumbly.

“OK, you guys have men and women, with XY and XX chromosomes, respectively, which was the binary norm for a long time, right?”

Kyle nodded again.

“Then you have male-to-female, and female-to-male transsexualism. Well, eventually, that label – even though I hate that word – is going to expand to include other genders. Like me.”

Kyle just sat there and nodded. “But if you're genetically XX, and you wanna take hormones, and dress in male clothing, have surgery, and live as a male, that's OK! I mean, if like, Wendy decided to _really_ become Wendel, well, then he'd _be_ a valid boy, in my book!”

“And that's good,” Korx agreed, “So there's heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, and all those others '-sexuals', OK? Well, you've got asexuals, too. I guess a genetic male or female, who identifies with the chromosomes and body they were born with, can be asexual, too. But historically, some cultures have recognized a multitude of genders. We could sit here and talk about that all night, you know, like, being born XY, but being female in your head. The body doesn't match the brain. There's many combinations in gender. Sexuality, or lack thereof, is only part of it. Just like there's different reassignment procedures. I mean, you can have genital reassignment surgery, and still be the physical or mental gender you were.”

“But you said you were an XY male?” Kyle reminded him.

“I am,” Korx nodded back, “I mean, that doesn't change. It's DNA. That's just biology, with the occasional aberration like XYY or XO, or XXY.”

“Were you born that way?” Kyle asked, blushing, “Without any … _stuff_ down there?”

“Yes,” Korx answered, “But it's a little more complicated than that. Sometimes, an XY baby is born with anorchia, where some, or all, of his/their external male genitals don't form. Also, throughout history, males have had their junk removed surgically, for any number of reasons. Singers, slaves, guards, you name it. Some cultures viewed the removal of male genitals as an honour, and as a requirement for some jobs.”

“Like harem guards?” Kyle snorted, as he then remembered what had happened to Trent Boyette. “Or the castrati singers from Italy, back in the 1700's or so?”

“Well, yeah, if you wanna talk dirty about it,” Korx shrugged, “Cut off a boy's junk when he's young, and he can't have heterosexual, dominant-position sex when he grows up. No balls, no kids. No dick, no fucking the women. Or men, if he's gay. But there's more to it than that.”

“Population control?” Kyle realized, “Oh my God! That's just...cruel! It's _sick_!” Kyle exclaimed.

“Calm down,” Korx patted Kyle's hand, “I'm not suffering. I was born this way. Engineered, really. As a fetus, I was given a small dose of a chemical that caused my male genitals to never form. Kids born blind don't miss sight, and kids born deaf that can get cochlear implants in later life usually end up scared, and having to learn to deal with sound. I've never had male genitals, so I don't miss them. I don't know what it's like to be built like you, but that doesn't bother me. It obviously bothers _you_ , though?”

“N-no, not if _you're_ OK with it,” Kyle decided, “So long as you're secure in your own body.”

“Too bad not everyone thinks like that, Kyle,” Korx sighed, “Here and now, I mean. We kinda outgrew that, for the most part.”

“But why?” Kyle gasped, looking like he might cry.

“Couple of reasons,” Korx offered. “When it's so overcrowded, and resources running out, it's not a good idea to let everyone just have as many kids as they want. Forced sterilization usually doesn't go over well, and 20th Century China's policies didn't always work, either. Before the first big shift in time, we were way too overpopulated. The first batch of Time Refugees were mainly those who didn't agree with the new normal. I mean, all the rules about reproduction, sex, resource allocation, you name it. I'm what's called a Drone,” Korx added.

“Drone?”

“Not like bees, where drones just breed the queen, and don't work,” Korx explained. “In fact, just the opposite.”

“You're a slave?” Kyle asked bitterly.

“No, I'm just not a Breeder,” Korx went on. “Breeders are, naturally, the heterosexual cismales and cisfemales. Like, men and women. Just like it's been since sexual reproduction evolved. I mean, you still have to have that to have kids, unless you're doing cloning, which was declared illegal in 2216.”

“OK?” Kyle sounded dubious.

“Eventually, our culture started to realize that we had a huge problem. Literally! You think you have class separations here? In my time, you've got Breeders. Just like normal heterosexual couples. They work, they reproduce, just like everyone has done for millennia. Mom, Dad, the kids, and the pets. Then you've got Drones, like me. I _can't_ breed, because I don't have testicles to make sperm, or a penis to deliver it. Now, in my case, I have XY genes. I'm biologically male, but my body, and my mind, aren't gender-tuned for male, like a male Breeder is.”

“So, if you can't have … sex … does that make you … gay? I mean, what's the correct gender identity for you, then?” Kyle asked.

“You're so PC!” Korx grinned, “I'm a _Drone_. An asexual Drone with male genes, and a neutral identity. Not straight, not gay, not male, not female. Not anything along the lines of sexuality and gender as you understand it.”

“You're a eunuch,” Kyle realized, “That's what … castrated … males were called in history?”

 _You're pretty much a eunuch, Kyle,_ Kyle remembered Kenny saying again.

“It's the definition, one of them. Gender neutral, gender nonconforming, whatever,” Korx shrugged. “I'm an asexual, yes. The focus of my existence, which isn't the same for all Drones, is academia. Without the worry of gender and sex drive to muddy the proverbial waters. I focus on what I'm supposed to do, and I do it without that distraction. I guess you could say I'm an asexual, non-gendered person.”

“But you dress and present as a boy?” Kyle asked.

“Not always,” Korx disagreed, “And a lot of that is in how _you_ see me. I mean, that cyan one-piece suit of mine isn't exactly gender-specific, is it? I like those pants that hit at the middle of your shins. Long shorts? Short trousers? And when it's warm, Capri pants. And hoodies. How do you tell if a solid color hoodie is for boys or girls? Or, some styles of shoes? Put in pink laces for girls, and blue for boys? I like yellow, too. You're really cool with the gender thing Kyle, but I think you're having a hard time wrapping your head around the idea of NO gender at all?”

“I dunno,” Kyle had to agree. “I mean, I'd never take you for a girl. No offense!”

“But see, I'm not a boy either,” Korx reminded him, wondering if Kyle were getting it or not, “Even though I have a Y chromosome. That's just how I was created.”

“So you were _created_ for a specific purpose?” Kyle sounded shocked.

“We all are. _You_ were! You just don't realize it yet,” Korx explained.

“But why create you... drones … if it's already so crowded?” Kyle had to ask.

“As specialists, and as needed, and for replacements. And if a couple wanted a child, it was best to make sure that the child was a Drone, to keep population down,” Korx replied, “Mainly specialists, though. Just like in history. Take the Byzantines, for example. Gifted and talented young boys were castrated back then, to further their careers. The family usually decided on it. It was normal for them, and their patrons liked the idea of the boy having no family, or sexual hangups, as distractions. The were called eunuchs, and viewed as a third gender. They were therefore dedicated to their careers. But not every boy back then was made a eunuch. Having Drones is normal for us, and we've got a lot of Drones.” Korx paused. He looked away. “Or rather, we _had_ lots of them.”

“Before the first shift, when the town here wiped you all out by altering the future?” Kyle surmised.

Korx nodded. He sniffled again, and surprisingly, leaned over on Kyle's shoulder. Kyle put his arm around him, not sure of what to do.

“Some of the staff in charge of Temporal Mechanics went renegade. That first guy came back, and set off a bunch of ripples. I mean, he invented it, and the government then got hold of it after your Refugee influx here, then. Those with functioning Discriminators noticed the changes, as time didn't change for them. Kinda like Butters, remembering both Timelines. They knew something had gone wrong. I was one of the Refugees, remember? I got wiped out then.”

“But something brought you back?” Kyle breathed in wonder.

“Yeah. My uncle. He didn't go back that first time, and he had a Discriminator in my time. So he saw his whole family get wiped out, along with most of the population. Thing is, hardly anyone knew it. Life was normal to them. They didn't see the changes. Uncle and his crew were left in an alien world, alone.”

“There was only one time machine?”

Korx nodded. Kyle tightened his grip, and Korx snuggled in closer. He was trembling.

“The cobalt ring around the accelerator preserved the time machine, and Uncle was able to reverse most of the damage. I'm not sure of the event that he targeted, but he came back here to get me before I could vanish, and brought me a Discriminator, too. He told my parents what had gone wrong, but they didn't believe him!”

Korx started to cry.

“And you're the only one of your family to survive?” Kyle gasped in horror.

“Yes!” Korx whimpered.

“Oh, God!” Kyle groaned, unable to imagine life without his family.

They sat there in silence for a while, Kyle holding Korx, trying to comfort him.

But oddly enough, Kyle Broflovski had no words. There was no speech he could make.

When Korx had recovered, he went on. “Once Uncle took me home, back to the future that was _kinda_ repaired, him and the whole University that runs the lab argued for months about what to do. They even considered going back and stopping Dad and that first guy from ever going to begin with. That was when I stole a Discriminator, and left.”

“Left?” Kyle wondered. “Hang on, you have _another_ Discriminator?”

“Yeah, but it's defective, I didn't check it before I left,” Korx muttered. “Not like it's just a dead battery. The damn thing just plain don't work!”

“Oh!”

“I came back here, 'cause I had friends,” Korx sighed, “And I liked it here. Now I'm stuck.”

“We thought you were the bad guy,” Kyle sighed again, “Oh God, Korx, I'm so sorry! If you'd just-”

“I should have done it all different,” Korx admitted, “It's part of a Drone's nature. I was like, you know? Fix this mess at all cost. Put things back the way they were supposed to be. And with no one to tell me what to do, I guess I wasn't so good at figuring it out on my own.”

“And this never had anything to do with Tweek and Craig?” Kyle had to ask.

“No, not at first,” Korx admitted, yawning. “I was around, you know. Here and there. Kind of a time-vagrant. A criminal, back home. Just some aberrant Drone that ran amok. I stayed here a while, moving back and forth in time, sometimes I'd consult the AI mainframe. We call it 'Ziggy'. I got real close a couple of times, but things just never seemed to go right. But whenever I'd talk to Ziggy, I'd have to leave that time, before they could lock onto me.”

“What do they do to aberrant Drones?” Kyle dared ask.

“Since we can't breed, they just drop us back in the glory of the Cambrian Era. Plenty of food, warmth, good climate, and just leave them there.”

“Even kids?” Kyle gasped in shock.

“Not many immature Drones go bad,” Korx explained, “We tend to just do what we're told. It's our nature.”

“But you didn't?” Kyle finally grinned.

“When I finally came back to Colorado, you guys were – will be – about sixteen or seventeen. I met up with you all again.” Korx wiped his face on his sleeve. “You guys were always so good to me! I was kinda homesick for this place, you know. I wasn't really aiming at that year, but I sorta slipped. I wanted to come back to here and now.”

“Then you heard about Tweek and Craig?”

Korx nodded. He yawned again.

“C'mon, we can talk about this later,” Kyle told him, pulling back the blanket as they got up. “It's late, and you're a mess.”

“Look, the guest room is -”

“No,” Kyle cut him off, “You're in no shape to be left alone tonight.” He put his hand on Korx's cheek, then gently guided him down onto the bed. Korx snuggled up to Kyle under the blankets, still quietly crying.

Kyle kissed his cheek, but as he had with Stan, he felt nothing other than a protective, even needy, instinct to protect this boy whom he'd so far perceived as his enemy.

That, and a feeling of nausea for what he'd done to Korx, and for what he'd just realized that the boy from the future was going through.

 _Time's orphan,_ Kyle thought, _He's lost everything, he was trying to help, and what did I do? I hurt him! He came back to find his friends, and found out that some of them had died!_

“Kyle,” Korx whimpered.

“Yeah?”

“Please don't let them take me.”

“Who?” Kyle asked, holding him a bit tighter.

But Korx was already asleep.

*

Kyle would not sleep that night. He was still awake when the overcast, eastern sky finally began to turn light gray. He'd simply lain there all night long, holding Korx, and listening to his whimpers.

“Things are changing again,” Some-Kyle was saying in Kyle-Prime's mind.  
In Eclipse's mind.  
“This never happened!” Another-Kyle added.  
“You better remember all this, before the Trans-time thing wipes me out!”  
“Korx was the random element,” Yet-Another-Kyle said.  
“He just appeared and disappeared.”  
“Was he a help, or a hurt?”  
“We never figured that out.”  
“But Kenny said that we were alive, I was alive, when Tweek died?” Kyle-Prime wondered.  
“All that's changed.”  
“Something else has gone wrong, then!”

“We don't exist, after Tweek dies.”

“No, we don't.”

“But Kenny remembers us, from after then? He came to tell us that Tweek had been killed in the wreck!”

“I HATE temporal mechanics!” All of the Kyles agreed.

“But at least Korx is OK,” Some-older-Kyle put in.

Kyle-Prime sighed in relief, daring to indulge what _that_ Kyle knew.

“He's like a brother. Your parents will get custody of him. No one from his time ever finds him, and he'll adapt. He's happy.”

“But who are 'they', that Korx is worried about are coming to take him?”

“Don't know. No one ever came for him. Not even the uncle.”

“Then why doesn't knowing this make me feel any better?” Kyle-Prime wondered, as he just lay there, watching Korx sleep.

This wasn't some fearsome enemy, though, Kyle-Prime realized. This was an orphaned, frightened child with nowhere to go, and no one to care about him. Kyle wondered what might have become of Korx, had he not destroyed the Discriminator. Would he have been caught, then exiled to the Cambrian Period? Or worse? What if he'd never come forward? Would he have frozen to death, just as a few of the homeless in South Park did each winter?

“Tweek was taking care of him, just like he did – will do – Kenny and Karen,” Kyle told himself, carefully locking out any of the information (for that moment) that any of the other Kyles had to offer.

He didn't want to be Eclipse just then.

He wasn't sure that he wanted to be Eclipse, ever again.

“You might as well have just pulled his pants down, bent him over, and force-fucked him,” Kyle realized, “For what you did to his brain! You shoved your mind into his by force, which is pretty much worse!”

Carefully, so as not to wake Korx, Kyle got out of bed and went to sit at his computer desk. Korx's breathing was slow and even, his eyes not moving, indicating that he was in a deep sleep. From the bags under those eyes, and the crease between them, Kyle decided that Korx must have been exhausted and desperately needed the rest.

He had to wonder just when Korx had gone back to save Chef. There was, after all, no way to know how long Korx had been up and going, before the party that previous night. He reached down and picked up one of Korx's shoes, noting how worn the tread was, and how scuffed the uppers were.

“He did it for us,” Kyle realized, “He knew how much we missed Chef. He knew how bad his death hit us. That, or he just missed the food?” Kyle smirked, finally settling on the former. “All he's got on his plate, his whole family gone, and he took the time to do something nice for us. God, I feel like a total shit,” Kyle berated himself, wondering if there were anything at all that he could do to ever make this up to Korx.

To Keith, rather, since that was what the adults would be calling him.

“I dunno how we're gonna pass him off as one of us?” Kyle fretted, as he turned to his computer. He then rolled up his sleeves, shut down the OS, and switched over to his hacking persona. Kyle's fingers flew over the keyboard as he mounted an attack on the Park County Office of Records. It took him a moment to get in, but once he was in, he located the files on births. He read down the list of all his friends and classmates. He looked at their birthdays. “Hmmm, May 26th,” Kyle thought of his own birthday. He then went down several records, until he came to Francis. He chose him at random, duplicated his birth records, then began changing data. “Brevan Keith _Cook,_ May 25 th,” Kyle muttered, “Born in South Park, Hell's Pass Hospital, that'll work,” he continued to type, “Father, unknown. Mother, vagrant, no ID, deceased, surname assigned at random, it's a C-day, like in _**Oliver Twist**_ ,” Kyle went on, “Foster care, foster care, foster care, moved, moved, moved, Weatherheads, extended dates for homelessness,” Kyle continued to hack away at the records, “Adopted, Gerald and Sheila Broflovski!” He hit the ENTER key, then the PRINT function. Within a few minutes, Kyle had 'Keith's' new identity printing out, all ready for the year's legalities, such as income taxes. He then pulled the plug on the computer.

Then his phone buzzed.

The screen read PRESIDENT JENNER.

“Oh, fuck!” Kyle groaned. “Hello, Ma'am!”

“Don't call me that, Kyle!” The President laughed, “Makes me feel old! You know, the NSA just called. Are you being a bad boy again, Kyle?”

“Yes, Cait,” Kyle remembered her invitation to call her by name, “Guess I'm outta practice?”

“You sure are, Honey!” President Jenner laughed, “But it's all good, Sweetie! I'll take care of it for you. Taking in an illegal alien, are we?”

“You have no idea, Cait,” Kyle sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. “It's this homeless kid here. He's got nowhere to go, and I-”

“It'll be our dirty little secret, Kyle!” President Jenner assured him. “Happy New Year, Kyle!”

“You too! Thanks!” Kyle replied, as she closed the connection on him. “I can't believe I got caught,” Kyle berated himself, “I'm better than this!”

In the bed, Korx stirred a bit. He rolled over, but didn't wake up.

Kyle let him sleep until nearly noon. He went ahead and took a shower, finding that Ike was already out and gone to Firkle's house when he came downstairs.

“So how's our guest, Bubbie?” Sheila asked, as she was already preparing lunch.

“He's in pretty bad shape, Ma,” Kyle told her, telling her the altered version of Korx's story. “He's been bounced around from foster home to foster home, and went out on his own after the Weatherhead bust in Greeley. He'd been hiding out in _**Sodosopa**_ ever since. I guess Tweek, and maybe David, had been sneaking him food, taking care of him.” Kyle paused. “Ma, I think we should think about keeping him. Permanently,” Kyle added.

 _Just **make** her want to keep him, _ The Other spoke up in Kyle's mind, _We can do it, Kyle!_

_Shut up!_

“You like him, don't you, Kyle?” Sheila asked.

Kyle nodded.

Sheila sighed.

“Not like _that_ , Ma!” Kyle gasped, suddenly embarrassed.

“Oh!”

“Ma, are you afraid I'll turn out gay?” Kyle then asked.

Sheila's face went a bit pink. She turned back to the pot of soup that was warming on the stove. “It's complicated, Bubbala,” she replied.

“We don't exactly follow all the laws, Ma,” Kyle reminded her, “My clothes are all fabric blends, and we plant a mixed garden. And I eat ham now and then, or sausage pizza.” Kyle waited, but his mother didn't answer right away. “And we don't make sacrifices at Temple, you know.”

Sheila turned to look at him, holding up the spoon as if she wanted to say something, but wasn't sure of what to say.

 _They didn't take it well when Ike and Firkle came out,_ a Future-Kyle spoke up in Kyle's mind.

“I don't think I'm gay, Ma,” Kyle assured her, “I don't think I'm anything.”

“You're just a late bloomer, son,” Sheila assured him, “Someday, we'll find you a nice, Jewish girl, and you can-”

“If you say so, Ma,” Kyle acquiesced, sighing again. “I think I'll go back up and watch TV until lunch.”

“That's fine,” Sheila smiled, going back to her cooking.

“Typical, if you don't like it, ignore it,” Kyle told himself.

As he entered his room, he found Korx staring at himself in the mirror. He was wearing a pair of Kyle's green pants, white socks, and a white polo shirt over a long-sleeved gray thermal undershirt. He had his knit cap on as well.

“I guess I'll be a boy for a while,” Korx decided.

“Well, if you're gonna stay, I guess we could take you to the mall, you know, have Clyde and Bebe, maybe a few more of the girls, pick out some clothes for you? I hacked this,” Kyle fetched a voucher for a clothing allowance that he'd hacked out of the foster system's computers. “Token's pretty stylish, maybe when he gets back?”

“OK,” Korx agreed.

“Boys, lunch!” Sheila shouted up the stairs.

“Guess that's us?” Korx smirked. “Why didn't I pick 'Kelly' for an alias?”

“I set you up a fake birth certificate, too,” Kyle told him on the way down. “You're legit now.”

“Never been that!” Korx smiled, as they sat down for lunch. It was a thick chicken stew with dumplings and hard rolls. “I don't think I'll ever get used to this.”

“Used to what, Keith?” Sheila asked, as she served lunch.

“Having a mom take care of me,” Korx sighed. “Thank you.”

Sheila handed the ladle to Kyle and covered her mouth in a sharp intake of breath. Then she turned and excused herself.

“Did you do that?” Korx asked Kyle.

Kyle, still staring after his mom, just shook his head. “No, that must'a been all … her?” Kyle wondered. “But it's not really her style?”

“And let me tell you something! What?! I don't care if it's a holiday!” Sheila was yelling on the phone, “There are homeless children in South Park, and we need to DO something about it!”

“Now _that's_ my mom,” Kyle shrugged, as the boys ate their lunch.

 


	25. Days Go By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle and Korx meet up with friends at the mall. Eclipse visits Kenny, and Korx makes a surprising confession in the trans-time dimension about what he's really done. Things get complicated when Kenny meets up with 'the man in black', and a discovery that could alter the future (yet again) is made when the boys meet up on the trans-time version of Route 285.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I'll be able to post for a bit. Work is going to become really hectic for the next few months, but I WILL be back as soon as I can!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 25  
Days Go By**

All too soon, the Christmas holidays were over. Thanks to Kyle's hack-job on the local DFC computer, along with the blessings of President Jenner and her NSA buddies, the Broflovski family (except for Kyle) was surprised to learn that the child, Keith Cook, had been adopted – by them. Sheila, now on a campaign to round up and help the homeless children of South Park, was elated. Gerald simply looked up from his newspaper that morning and mumbled a “mmm-hmm.”

“Dad,” Kyle smirked, “You know I have to see the doctor about Janus Syndrome?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Gerald agreed.

“It means I'm growing a second head, Dad,” Kyle added, as he and Ike and Korx (aka Keith) all smiled at each other.

“Mmm-hmm,” Gerald agreed.

“GERALD!” Sheila shouted at him, “Pay attention! I'm taking the boys to the mall before they close at five today, to get Keith some things! I'm taking the credit card!” Sheila warned him, which finally got the man's attention. “For God's sake, Gerald!” Sheila rolled her eyes as she grabbed up her keys and purse.

“So I guess I'm gonna be a boy, then?” Korx raised an eyebrow, or rather, where he should have had an eyebrow.

“It's just awful,” Sheila commented, as she pulled out her makeup kit and carefully gave Korx some eyebrows. “It's a Jersey thing,” she added. “And what do you mean by 'be a boy'?”

Korx looked in the mirror, and found that he liked having eyebrows. On the way to the mall, Korx tried to explain his lack of gender.

“So it's 'agender', then?” Sheila nodded. “Got it! What pronouns should I use?”

Korx smiled. “'He' is OK, Ma'am!”

“And you're OK with this, Ma?” Kyle asked, as his phone chimed. “Token's meeting us at the food court, they took a red-eye flight back,” he informed them all. “Clyde and Bebe should meet us there, too.”

“I'm gonna meet up with Firkle and Teddy, OK?” Ike asked, as he took his leave of them.

Kyle and Korx glanced at each other. Kyle knew full-well that had it not been for Korx, that either Teddy or Firkle (along with several others) would still be dead.

 _He's better at this altering history thing than we are,_ Kyle had to admit.

Surprisingly, Token remembered Korx, which sort of confused Kyle, as Korx explained to Token, Clyde, and Bebe what had happened as they wandered through the mall looking for deals at clothing stores.

“So you're staying, this time?” Token asked.

“That's right,” Korx snapped his fingers, “You don't know why I'm here, do you? I forgot!” He smiled. “See, I came back to see everyone, and then something went, well, kinda wrong!” Korx smiled at Kyle. “So now I'm stuck here!” Korx shrugged.

“Hang on, didn't they say, on the news, that your people's time travel was one-way only?” Bebe asked, “I think I remember hearing that?”

“Well, Uncle made some improvements after that, and all the mess of the future, but for now, nope! Stuck here with you guys!” Korx nodded.

“Why am I not surprised?” Token grinned.

“Yeah, well, South Park might be some kind of weird time warp,” Korx told them, “But when you change the Timeline, it changes all over the planet, you know. Just because Token was in Switzerland, that wouldn't make him exempt.”

“So, wait a minute? You changed history?” Bebe asked Korx.

“Kinda,” Korx shrugged, “Just coming here made little changes. What do you think about this one?” Korx held up a yellow jacket.

“Uhm, guys, this is a _**Justice**_?” Clyde reminded them, “Girls' clothes?”

“Agender?” Korx reminded him.

“Righhhhht!” Clyde agreed, looking as if he still weren't too clear on the matter.

“So?” Bebe smiled, “I think it sets off his eyes! You should try this hat, too! Knit caps are so...”

“Cartman?” Clyde put in. “Say, what's up with him, anyway?”

“He's still in jail,” Kyle shrugged, popping a Life-Saver candy into his mouth and offering them around. “Probably have a hearing this week.”

 _January 10 th,_ Another-Kyle put in, whispering in Kyle-Prime's mind, _He'll do two years in Juvie, after Yates is done with him, and they get a plea bargain, then get out. He'll be a lot different when he gets out this time, but inside, he's still the same old Cartman!_

“No, thanks, artificial sweetener,” Clyde declined the candy.

Korx noticed the look on Kyle's face as Bebe was seeing how a blue scarf went with the yellow jacket. “Slip up a bit?”

“Yeah,” Kyle blinked a few times. “Something tells me we won't see Cartman for a couple'a years.”

“What about these?” Clyde held up a pair of brown suede high boots with faux-fur lining.

“I think you could get away with it, Dude,” Token clapped Clyde's shoulder, “Maybe with some tan Capri pants?”

“Not for ME!” Clyde blushed, “For _Korx_. I mean Keith!”

“Now you're getting it,” Bebe congratulated him, noting the way the boots went well with the short-legged pants that Korx had picked out.

“Won't girls' pants kinda pinch your … you know?” Clyde pointed at his crotch.

“Nope,” Korx replied, grinning.

“Oh,” Clyde nodded. Then he paused. “OH!” He finally got it. “Shit, Dude! I mean-” Clyde was saying.

“You've got one more than _I_ do, Clyde,” Korx patted his shoulder.

“So, you're going to be living with Kyle?” Token asked, hoping to change the subject, “So what else did I miss while I was gone?”

“You have no idea,” Kyle sighed, “Other than a nice New Year's party,” he backtracked.

“C'mon, Token, we'll fill you in while we're getting Keith ready to go back to school,” Bebe replied. “Gonna be hard to remember your new name!”

“Token, what do you think about petitioning Chef to come to the junior high?” Kyle asked, out of curiosity as to what Token knew.

“That'd be great!” Token replied, as they headed for a shoe store, “I haven't had his Salisbury steak in a year!”

Kyle and Korx exchanged grins. It seemed that while Kyle, Kenny, and Butters remembered, the rest of their friends had been spared the pain of losing Chef.

While the rest of them were trying to help Korx pick out some gym shoes and other athletic wear, Kyle's mind began to wander. As Eclipse, he knew that this was dangerous. Still, he couldn't help but think about what he'd just learned from some Other-Kyle about Cartman. “The same old Cartman?” Kyle wondered, as a vision took him. His perspective suddenly shifted, and he was no longer twelve. He was older. He knew it in an instant, from how the cafeteria of the school looked skewed. It was if he were seeing it from a higher angle.

“ _Yeah, and what is that?” Cartman asked, “Another one of PC Principal's stupid roools?” He drawled, “What's he doing? Having sex with Craig now, or something? His own little crippled catamite?” Cartman laughed._

_They all just continued to glare at him._

“ _It's called 'common decency',” Bebe told him._

“ _Decency?” Cartman laughed harder, “Oh, that's a good one, Bebe! Tell us, does common decency include not splaying your boyfriend's brains -...”_

_Cartman didn't get to finish his sentence, though, as Kenny smashed him across the face with his plastic lunch tray. The hit flipped Cartman backwards out of his chair to smack his head on the floor, but Kenny was on him before he could get up._

“ _F-fu-fuck him up, K-Kenny!” Jimmy egged him on._

“ _FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” The students all began chanting._

But Kenny didn't look good. He was dirty, haggard, and looked like he hadn't been eating. Kyle looked around, but chose to not interfere. The idea of altering a future that was in the future of his own altered present frightened him. That, and he had no way to know if that future would hold up.

_Kenny punched Cartman in the face twice, then gave up. Cartman wasn't putting a fight; he was just yelling for help._

“ _Nuh-Knock him out, Tweek!” Craig smiled, miming boxing punches, and looking a bit out of it himself._

_The room went quiet._

Kyle-Prime, through Kyle-Future's eyes, realized that in that future, Tweek was still dead.

“ _Decency?” Cartman laughed harder, “Oh, that's a good one, Bebe! Tell us, does common decency include not splaying your boyfriend's brains -...”_

“-...all over Route 285,” Kyle whispered to himself, finishing the sentence.

Kyle felt a chill.

 _Trust me, Kyle, you do not wanna look over in the grass!_ Kyle remembered Kenny's warning in that Trans-Time dimension.

“ _Kyle? Are you gonna die, since you got sick?” Ike asked, his voice sounding very small._

“Ike,” Kyle breathed, remembering how Ike had pulled him out of the other vision: the vision of Tweek laying in the grass, dead, along the highway. Kyle looked around, the high school cafeteria gone, but didn't see his little brother. The mall was fairly busy, but no Ike. Yet again, Ike had pulled his brother back.

But Kyle could feel Ike's presence.

Ike was with Firkle and Teddy, at _**Spencer's**_. They'd not been seen by an employee yet, and they were looking at the sexual items in the back, snickering and making rude comments to one another. It was a small relief, Kyle realized, that he could home in on Ike and find him.

He could probably find anyone, he realized.

Kyle closed his eyes.

“Tweek, you don't have to help,” Craig was saying, his voice echoing in Kyle's mind. “Just sit on the stool by the blast heater and watch, Babe.”

“Craig, dammit, I'm not helpless!” Tweek was protesting. “Stop treating me like a baby! At least me take the starter apart! I can do that sitting down!”

“Well, you should have known how _I'd_ treat you, when you told me!” Craig retorted hotly. “For God's sake, Tweek! You've got a heart murmur! That's a bad valve! You could have heart attack – for REAL!” Craig paused. Kyle thought he heard a sniffle. For just a moment, the mall spun away again, replaced by Craig's surprisingly orderly garage. Kyle could feel the chill, and the rising heat from the blast heater. He could smell gas and oil. He could see Craig wiping his nose on the sleeve of his new coveralls, already dirty with oil and grease. And yet they were sort of translucent, as if Kyle could see through the garage scene, and see the shining _**Sears**_ sign at the end of the mall corridor. Yet he could see that Tweek was clean. Even his hands. The name badge on Tweek's coveralls read “CRAIG”.

Someone was crying.

“Craig, I'll be OK.”

Kyle had never heard Craig cry.

Oddly enough, Kyle wondered what Kenny and Butters were doing as he pulled his mind away from Craig.

_Craig commits suicide._

Kyle looked around. He looked at the other customers. He looked back at Clyde trying to talk Korx into a purple athletic workout suit. He looked down the corridor at all the people. He stared past them, towards the exit, beyond which lay the town of South Park.

“But I don't see South Park,” Kyle said to himself, “I see only darkness. I see dirty corners, abandoned visions, forgotten people. Broken dreams and shattered hopes, all swept over to the side, into some dark corner, like so much useless junk. The very future, ground into dust, sitting in the bottom of an hourglass. And what of my friends? What if all Kenny knew is changed?” He looked around again.

He remembered the mall on Black Friday, soaked in blood.

The electronics store was gone.

Kyle remembered his friends in those costumes. Costumes they'd donned again, to rescue Kenny from the hospital. Kyle had handed his Elf costume off to one of Ike's friends. Ike's friends, two of whom had died and come back.

“What of _my_ friends?” Kyle asked himself. “I don't even know what classes I'm in now, unless I find a 'me' that does!”

Cartman was in jail. And what had Kenny said? That Cartman would die of Type-2 diabetes? He hadn't been arrested until high school?  
Butters, with his new cornea and lens, alone and withdrawn. The Art Club nerd.  
Kenny, looking like Death warmed over in the microwave. Still poor. But still Mysterion?  
Clyde, dead of metastasized testicular cancer.  
Timmy, dead of a cranial artery bleed.  
Craig, disabled by the accident and a crippling stroke, driven to suicide.  
Tweek, dead on Route 285.

And Stan.

Stan Marsh, frozen to death, drunk, in the cemetery maintenance shed.

“ _You're my super-best friend!”_

“But all this has changed,” Another-Kyle reminded him, as Kyle-Prime felt himself slipping away. “Timmy is alive. Clyde is alive. _Stan_ is alive!”

“Stan is alive,” Kyle-Prime reminded himself, nodding, but not daring to see if Stan was, indeed, still his super-best friend in days – years – to come.

What if he weren't?

Kyle didn't think he could stand it.

“All of that has changed.” He turned to rejoin his friends in the store. “But Tweek's still dead,” he remembered, wondering again at Kenny's words: _Every time I save one of them, someone else dies!_

Kyle found his gaze wandering to a dark corner at the back of the store. “And I think I know who it's gonna be this time,” he sighed.

“C'mon, Keith, it looks great on you!” Kyle then heard Token saying.

“I look ridiculous,” Korx/Keith protested, standing by the changing room in that purple workout suit.

“Sets off your head real good, kid!” The clerk put in.

“It's just so … so …” Korx mumbled.

“Hetero, cismale, jock-ish?” Clyde offered, looking hurt.

“It's OK, Mr. Universe,” Bebe assured him, “How about we see how Keith looks with the yellow and white sneakers?”

“I like yellow,” Korx reminded them.

 _Your hair is yellow,_ Kyle then heard Craig's voice saying in his mind. But Craig's nasal voice was deeper. Kyle then realized something: _The fight in the cafeteria was in high school! Tweek was already dead! That has to be after the accident that injures Craig! AND I'M STILL ALIVE THEREAFTER, if I can tune into it!_ Kyle suddenly realized. _Hang on? Haven't I thought this before? Or was that Kenny? Why would I be worried about what Kenny remembers?_

 _Kyle, you have to stop thinking like this,_ a veritable chorus of Kyles then spoke up in his mind. _You are you, but we are you. There are **not** infinite Kyles. There is only ONE Kyle Broflovski! There is only ONE Eclipse!_

_AND WE ARE ALIVE AFTER THE CRASH!_

“I'm hiding it from myself,” Kyle nodded, as the realization of it all nearly brought him to his knees. _I'm hiding something, an older-Kyle – no, ME – I am hiding something so terrible that I don't think my younger selves can take it!_

_There is only ONE-_

“KYLE!” He heard his mother shout, as Kyle collapsed onto a small bench near the wall of display shoes. Kyle's vision went blurry, but he could just make out a blue, red, and brown blur coming at him.

_That's not Mom..._

Sheila dropped her shopping bags and ran to Kyle as well. “When did you last check your blood sugar, Kyle? You're pale and clammy! You must be low!”

“S-Stan?” Kyle mumbled.

Then Stan was helping him sit up, gently slapping Kyle's face. “Oh my God! Kyle! Say something!”

“I...I'm alive! I'm alive, after...after the c-crash!” Kyle managed.

“Some crash!” Scott Malkinson put in, as he came into the shop with Lisa Burger. “Kyle, I can't follow you around everywhere now, you have to get the hang of this thing!” Scott berated him, albeit gently as he took Kyle in hand.

“I...I could eat,” Kyle mumbled, and the next thing he knew, Clyde was shoving a half-unwrapped energy bar into his mouth, while Stan was loosening his jacket and shirt buttons. Scott was feeling at his neck, checking his pulse, and asking Kyle to squeeze his hand.

“You could have just asked me,” Korx whispered in Kyle's ear, as he came to sit down on the bench to try on a pair of shoes. “I knew you were still alive, after the crash. You just didn't _want_ to know.”

“Now he tells me,” Kyle mumbled, around a mouthful.

Scott Malkinson had Kyle's hand, and was already getting a blood sugar reading. Kyle hadn't even felt the stick.

“Do something, Scott!” Stan gasped.

“Just let him work,” Lisa told the girls.

“Captain Diabetes to the rescue!” Token grinned, as Scott made his diagnosis.

“44! Lucky you didn't pass out! To the food court!” Scott declared, holding up a small EpiPen-style device. He then jabbed Kyle with it. The store clerk fainted. “That's a fast, hard hitter, so he needs to eat some more now! This little snack bar ain't gonna do it!”

“Neither did the Life-Savers,” Clyde commented.

“No sugar, they're useless,” Scott explained.

“Well, it's late!” Sheila smiled, “The food court will marking down all the meals to go!”

“Here, let's use this!” Stan called, fetching a mall wheelchair from a passing employee.

Kyle protested, but it did no good. “Now I know how Timmy feels.”

“Sorry I didn't call,” Stan apologized, as he pushed him along, “Dad saw this sale at _**Sears**_ , and that was that!”

“It's OK, Stan,” Kyle assured him, “Thought you were going to Craig's, though?”

Stan just shrugged. “Dad,” he groaned.

On the way to the food court, Bebe and Lisa took Korx in hand.

“Was he in the other class back then?” Scott asked, “I don't think I remember him?”

“Did anyone tell Kor-, Keith, that he, I mean, _they_ , picked out a girl's workout suit?” Clyde asked.

“I don't think it matters, and Keith doesn't care about pronouns,” Kyle reminded him, as he explained the name change, their friend's agender identity, and how he'd hacked into records to make their old friend legal.

“So, unless someone from the future comes for Keith, he.. _.they're_ stuck here?” Token wondered, as they all ordered food from various places and found a table.

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed, “And that's what scares us,” he added grimly, glancing around at the other diners enjoying their marked-down dinners, as the mall prepared to close early on the holiday.

“Back to school tomorrow,” Clyde sighed, picking at his chef salad from the trendy, organic eatery. “God, I want Mexican, so bad!”

Kyle noticed the look that Korx gave him, although no one else did. “You're gonna be OK, Clyde,” Korx assured him, smiling that serene little smile of his, which, until that moment, Kyle had never noticed before.

It annoyed him a bit.

“If it wasn't for the stuff that Tweek can bake, the safe stuff, I think I'd lose my mind,” Clyde sighed.

“You and me, both,” Scott agreed, nudging Kyle in the ribs.

“Yeah, right,” Kyle nodded, mentally calculating the carb count of his dinner versus how much insulin Scott had given him. _I don't have time for this shit!_

“Thank you, for everything,” Korx offered, as he sat eating his plate of Chinese food. “You guys were always so good to me.”

Kyle cocked an eyebrow at him. _For someone who wants to kill you, he sure sounds sincere?_

 _Don't worry,_ The Other spoke up in Kyle's mind, _I've removed the trigger that was implanted in Korx's mind. Rather,_ _ **you**_ _have. You just haven't done it yet. You've really got to start thinking in four dimensions, Kyle. If you're keeping him close now, it's only because you want to. Not because you need to._

Kyle decided that he wasn't surprised. While he had a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea of there only being ONE Kyle, and he himself having a hard time with the idea of existing in every point of his life all at once, while all those others Kyles (which didn't really exist) did just that, he simply chose to sit there and just accept it. In fact, it gave him an idea, as he tried to focus on being that ONE Kyle. It also gave him a headache.

“Ma, can we put bunk beds in my room?” Kyle asked, “So Keith won't be downstairs, all alone?”

“Thank you, Kyle,” Korx smiled, reaching over and taking his hand, giving it a squeeze.

Kyle squeezed it back.

*

Pale orange light from the _**Sodosopa**_ construction lamps, left on for security reasons, filtered through the clean, new windows of Kenny McCormick's bedroom. In January, night fell early in South Park, Colorado. As he stood at the window, balanced on his good leg with an arm holding onto the sill, Kenny realized that he was staring out at a world that he now knew nothing about. _I'm lost,_ he thought, _A stranger in a strange land. Always before, I knew what was going to happen, before it did. Now I'm flying blind. Sitting in a fucking wheelchair, because of a fight with Dad that never happened before! Because of another fight with an old woman, that never happened before._

 _If you hadn't made that flying, acrobatic leap, your leg bones wouldn't have snapped all the way,_ The Other reminded him.

 _We murdered her, Grandma Stotch, that is,_ Kenny told The Other.

Told himself.

_And we never did that before. But I don't think Leo misses her?_

“If I hadn't been so pissed off about Leo's future, I wouldn't have done it,” Kenny said aloud, wondering at how his voice carried in the larger, mostly empty, room. He glanced at the secret access panel that Stan Marsh had built, and thought about the secrets that were just under his floorboards. Secrets that would stay there a bit longer. At least four weeks longer.

Kenny rubbed at his side. His ribs still hurt, but there was no way he was going back to school in Timmy's borrowed wheelchair. Jimmy Valmer had been over that afternoon, and despite Butters' protests, had given Kenny lessons on how to use crutches. As Kenny downed a pain pill, he somewhat regretted not having listened to his boyfriend that night they'd attacked Queen Torpedo Tits. He looked back at the rumpled bed.

He had listened to Butters _this_ afternoon, though.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” he then said to the seemingly empty room.

“No,” the distorted voice of Eclipse replied, as the figure in black stepped out of the shadows. “We thought you'd like to rest, spend the day with Butters.”

“Like you spent your day at the mall with – what is he calling himself now? Keith?” Kenny asked.

Eclipse nodded. “I remember that day.”

Kenny almost flinched. He turned slowly, noting the height discrepancy.

“You're not my twelve year old Kyle,” Kenny said matter-of-factly.

“No,” Eclipse replied, “I'm a bit more... experienced.”

“How experienced?”

“Not enough,” Eclipse answered, “I came to – rather, Kyle came to – a realization today. It disturbed me. I'm not even sure how we...I did it, to be honest.”

“Kyle Broflovski _is_ brutally honest,” Kenny nodded, turning back to stare out the window. “But why come back to tell me about it?”

“What do you see out there?”

“Blood,” Kenny replied flatly, “Blood that I spilled. Blood that I mopped up. Blood that I spilled again.” He hopped back to the end of his unmade bed. “They can remodel and rebuild all they want, but it won't change anything. Not really.” He exhaled, hard. “Innocent blood that cries out from the Earth.” He didn't look at his visitor. “You're surprised?”

“At the quote? Yes. You realize that a lot of what was, in those altered futures, still came – will come – to pass?” Eclipse asked. “Like those ripples that Keith talked about? The shore may change when they hit, but the larger features remain unmoved. And some of the features were formed by the ripples, before the ripples were even made.”

Kenny nodded. “The Poga Paradox. Are you telling me that we're not going to get rid of Cartman so easily?”

“How did you know?” Eclipse wondered.

“I was thinking about the fight in the high school cafeteria today,” Kenny finally looked up at Eclipse. “Where Cartman was antagonizing Craig. I'm sure you remember it? The day you lied and Cartman expelled? And I have the feeling that you were, too?”

Eclipse nodded. “He'll get two years, now, for vandalizing Craig's car. I told Kyle this, rather – Kyle-Prime, let's call him – today. Cartman's stint in juvie could well be what shapes him into the monster that's going to get loose after Craig comes back to school.”

“The day that started all this,” Kenny agreed, holding out his hands. “It just happened to Cartman a bit sooner, this time.” Kenny lay back on the bed. It wouldn't be long until the pain pill put him under, but it wouldn't be real sleep. Not the kind of sleep that he needed. “Why come back to warn me about something that won't happen for another four years, and only if we fail again?” Kenny then asked.

“I don't think we _can_ fail, this time,” Eclipse disagreed, “Not with three of us working on it.”

“But you're not telling me about the crash? You were in the cafeteria? You're a K- Eclipse from after the accident.” Kenny accused him.

“You mean murder,” Eclipse corrected him.

Kenny flinched that time. “Murder?”

“You've studied the skid marks for a long time now, Kenny,” Eclipse reminded him, “Craig remembered that he saw four lights. Two vehicles. The other skid marks are from a car, not a big rig. Not from Red Racer.” Eclipse sighed. “We know how to correct it, Kenny. It's just that the shifts, from further along in time, haven't caught up with me yet. In my future, Tweek is still dead. The crash still happened. But I don't have Korx – Keith – in my history. Not yet.”

“This makes no sense,” Kenny protested.

“Temporal paradoxes seldom do, as Kevin Stoley would well tell you,” Eclipse replied.

“I think we need to spend some more time with Kevin,” Kenny mused.

“It's not just that,” Eclipse explained. “You're upset about Keith. But don't be. I think he's going to be very valuable. I've got memories of him starting seventh grade now, you see. The changes are reaching us already.”

“You mean Korx?” Kenny snapped.

Eclipse nodded. “He's been 'Keith' for a few years now.”

“He was never here before,” Kenny retorted, “In all the repeats of my failed Timelines, Korx was _never_ here. I can't believe that Kyle, that _you_ , trapped him here! You made him a sitting duck!”

“He's been sitting for nearly four years now,” Eclipse added, “And no one's taken a shot at him yet.”

“Hard to believe, with such a huge change to history,” Kenny sniffed, as he tried to get comfortable on the bed. He then sighed. “I need help,” he admitted bitterly. “Would you mind?”

Eclipse helped him out of his clothes and into pyjamas without a word. He even got him a glass of water and tucked him in. Finally, he said, “I thought you should know about Korx, if you will. We've been careful, Kenny. He's not the monster that you might think he is. He's a lost, frightened child.” Eclipse paused. “And more. He's very complicated.”

“Riiiiight,” Kenny drawled, “Tell me another good one?”

“I can, if you don't mind? You see, I remember telling you about some of this, but not all of it.” Eclipse paused again. “No, I think you just need a little knowledge, like where all your classes are now, for one. I've already relayed this to Kyle-Prime. Actually, it was him who called me.”

“So, you don't need his body then? To come back in time? Is my Kyle home in bed now?” Kenny had to ask, as knowledge began to flood into his mind.

Eclipse nodded. “Too fast?”

“No, you've gotten better at this,” Kenny observed, feeling the gentle touch in his mind. “I'm sure Cartman would appreciate it.”

“Look, just try and be kind to Korx, OK?” Eclipse asked, “I don't wanna make any bigger of a mess of the Timeline, but from my perspective, you were – will be – kinda cold towards him. He needs us, Kenny. He's literally got no one else, and nowhere to go.”

“I can see how I'd do that,” Kenny agreed, yawning. “But what did you say about enemies? Keep your friends close, and them closer?”

“If Korx was our enemy, I think I'd know it by now,” Eclipse replied. “I've...I've developed feelings for him.”

“Really?” Kenny scoffed.

“Not like you and Butters, or Tweek and Craig,” Eclipse corrected him. “At least, I don't think so.”

“You're definitely Kyle, then,” Kenny chuckled.

“I'm just very protective of Keith,” Eclipse added. “I guess, sorta like Craig is about Tweek.”

“What _about_ Tweek?” Kenny asked, feeling his eyes getting heavy.

“He's fine, so far as I know,” Eclipse replied, “Now go to sleep. Tomorrow is back to school. Days go by, you know.” Eclipse pulled off a glove, and placed a hand on Kenny's forehead. “Sleep, Kenny. You need it.”

“Yeahhhhh,” Kenny moaned, as he fell asleep.

Eclipse ran his hand along Kenny's smooth cheek, raised his mask to expose the lower half of his face, then leaned down to kiss Kenny's forehead. He sighed as he stood up, took a few steps, then pixelated away before he needed to open the door. His words echoed behind him:

“These were good days, Kenny. It's shame they went by so damn fast!”

*

It wasn't long, however, before Kenny felt the need to urinate. He was at the bathroom door before he realized that he was up and walking, on two good legs. As he looked around, he saw that his house was more of a disaster than it had ever been before the rebuild on Randy and Stan's show. Just to be sure, Kenny used the toilet. A bucket of water sat under the cracked tank, ready to dump into the tank to 'flush', as it were.

“Fuck this,” Kenny snarled, knowing that the cold he felt on his bare feet wasn't real. It was no more real than the wind that tore through his white pyjamas as he stepped out into the night.

Out into the partially rebuilt ruins of _**Sodosopa at Historic Kenny's House.**_

“So, you're the one we've been so worried about?” A man's voice then echoed through the ruins.

“I fucking _hate_ this dream-dimension, trans-time bullshit,” Kenny grumbled, looking all around and seeing no one.

The man laughed. “You're so dense, that you don't even realize how we get here, _who_ gets here, or what Eclipse was talking about just now? From your perspective, that is? You don't even realize that you might be getting fooled?”

Kenny didn't need to think about it. He'd known, when he'd gone to bed. He'd known when Eclipse was tucking him in. He knew Kyle's gentle touch, and the smell of his breath. _Sugar-free peppermint Life-Savers,_ Kenny knew, as Kyle always seemed to have one in his mouth lately.

“They know, and they have a plan,” Kenny shouted at the cold, empty night, “And Eclipse, from this future, came back to make sure that things were still OK here. You're scared,” Kenny challenged his unknown antagonist, “You're scared that they've formed a plan, and have access to Tweek!”

“Very good,” the voice congratulated Kenny, “But it's a simple matter to mess it all up for you all, again!”

“I think not,” Kenny disagreed, “I think that Kyle securing Korx's help, and now, between the three of us, the possibilities have narrowed _so_ much, that _you_ can't do anything but take your one shot. I think that Kyle got lucky,” Kenny dug in deeper, “And that Time Itself will only put up with so much shit, before _It_ fights back! Tell me,” Kenny went on, “Why Tweek, and why only at that _one_ instant in time? Why not just send a hit man into the shoppe, to shoot him, or something? You have _infinite_ opportunities to kill Tweek! Why all this focus on the car crash on Route 285?”

Silence.

Kenny then snapped his fingers. The sound echoed around the ruins like a gunshot.

“Too many ripples already, too many changes! So many, in fact, that you _now_ can't even risk extracting Korx from the present!” Kenny declared, “Eclipse told me that if Korx was a sitting duck, then he's been sitting for about three years now!” Kenny blinked, as something else that Eclipse had planted in his mind came to the surface. “Your runaway Drone did his job a bit too well, didn't he? What was it, his Discriminator exploding, or something else that he did that's keeping you fuckers outta here? Nooooo,” Kenny drawled, an evil smile spreading across his face, “Something in your time went _really_ wrong for you all! Face it, Bud, your faction has been outsmarted! If you could kill Tweek outright, you would! If you could reclaim Korx, you _would_! And you **can't**!”

“Me? Outsmarted? Then so are you!” The man retorted, sounding oddly childish, as a black shadow dropped from a ledge above to face Kenny. The masked man hesitated for just a second. He blinked.

The blond boy in the white pyjamas who'd looked so innocent was gone.

“It's my party!” Mysterion spread his arms, as he brought his leg up to kick the man square in the nuts.

The man went down, and gasping, told Mysterion, “Hit me all you want! This is just a dream!”

And then Mysterion was on him, pinning him, with a Mysterang at the man's throat. Blood ran from a small cut on the man's neck. “But do you really wanna take that chance, Cowboy?”

The man in black didn't move.

“How about I cut your throat, and just to be sure, we make a date for tomorrow night, here?” Mysterion offered.

“We can wipe you all out of existence at any time!” The man threatened him.

“Oh, no,” Mysterion repeated, “If you could have, you would have already done that! No, I think Korx fucked you over, but good! I don't know what he did, but he did it – and it did YOU in! He left you with one chance, and now that chance is so well-guarded that you don't think you _can_ do it! See, that's what never made sense to me – why, if you could travel in time, at will, that you've dragged this whole thing out for any number of years, and any number of times for ME trying to fix it!”

“Then maybe we'll just kill _you_!” The man threatened him.

“Good luck with that, Cowboy,” Mysterion laughed, pressing his blade just a touch harder. More blood ran from the man's neck. “Which rules out my next guess, as to who you are! See, Korx mentioned factions. Others that want the crash to happen – others that want Tweek dead! And I only know of _one_ other person who's had experience with time travel, other than Korx, me, and Eclipse!”

“There's the retarded kid,” the man snickered, and Mysterion felt as if a cartoon light bulb had just snapped on over his head. He pulled back his Mysterang, and kicked the man in the face, just for good measure.

“Timmy was an accident,” Mysterion informed him, “When we all tried to go back to the third grade. He's not even a variable in this complex equation!”

“I seem to have underestimated you,” the man admitted, slowly getting to his hands and knees, spitting blood and coughing.

“You're working with _him_ ,” Mysterion accused him, as he realized who that other could be.

“With whom?” The man asked.

“One who hasn't been hit by the trans-time changes yet,” Mysterion mused, “The last time, it was almost instantaneous, I recall. But apparently, those changes, didn't hold! That altered future somehow reverted to its initial, even normal, state. Fascinating,” Mysterion breathed. “And it would follow, that knowing what he did to his future self, that the future self would take steps to prevent _him_ from doing it again. Perhaps even acquiring a Discriminator from one of you?”

“What in hell are you babbling about?” The man demanded, but before he could react, Mysterion was on him again.

“Korx sabotaged the time machine when he left the future the last time, didn't he?” Mysterion almost crooned. “He said the Discriminator he stole, his spare, didn't work. I think it _does_ have a dead battery! In fact, I think your whole quantum accelerator up there, a thousand years hence, has a dead battery that you _can't_ replace!”

Mysterion then reached down and grabbed the man's mask. As he made to tear it away, however, the man vanished. Kenny gasped, finding himself sitting on green grass in the warm sunshine. He was back in his white pyjamas again, and the man was gone.

“What the fuck?” Kenny complained.

“I'm sorry,” Korx said, and Kenny jerked his head around to see him walking up the lane that Kenny knew all too well.

They were in the cemetery again.

“Did you just do that?” Kenny demanded.

Korx nodded. “Eclipse came to see us, just a little while ago. He said he was going to come see you too. He said things are all set up, and that I was going to be OK until then,” Korx sounded relieved. “I think he doesn't want us to blow it.”

Kenny couldn't help but notice how pathetic the little Futurist looked, standing there in Kyle's faded old Terrance and Phillip pyjamas. He found himself feeling somewhat sorry for the child. “So, if I'd unmasked him, I might have blown Eclipse's plans? Just when the fuck did HE take over?” Kenny fumed.

Korx just shrugged.

“You sabotaged them, didn't you?” Kenny pressed him. “The accelerator, up in your time?”

Again, Korx nodded. “I had just enough special cobalt left for one more leap,” he explained. “So I came here. Now.”

“Because you knew that Kyle would take you in?” Kenny theorized.

Korx nodded again. “If not him, then someone would. Maybe the Principal, and his wife.” Korx paused. “But I'm glad it was Kyle.”

“So, are you suggesting that we just sit here and wait – for _four_ years?” Kenny demanded, realizing that he was sounding harsh.

“Why not?” Korx retorted, sniffling and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his pyjamas. “They can't come back now! And even if they could come _here_ , they can't mess up the real world anymore!”

“Because _they_ need tech! In case you forgot, K,” Kenny shortened his name, “Me and Kyle don't _need_ tech to time travel!”

“Go right ahead, then, Kenny!” Korx exclaimed, “Go try it again! Leap ahead four years, and watch your friends die, all over again! See if I care! But you know what? Right here, right NOW,” Korx pointed at the ground, tears rolling down his cheeks, “Teddy and Firkle are alive! Stan Marsh is alive! Timmy Burch is alive! Clyde Donovan is alive! And he's gonna stay that way, too! ALL of them are alive, Kenny! Even Chef!”

Each one of Korx's tearful words hit Kenny like a physical blow as he realized just what this strange child had sacrificed for them all.

“You used up all your … power cells … to fix all the mess? Like Chef? And Stan?”

Korx bowed his head and wept.

“Oh, God,” Kenny sighed, as he then felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

He turned his head to see Kyle standing there in his pyjamas. Not Eclipse, dressed in black and deep gray. Just Kyle.

“Tell me you trust him now,” Kenny said, his unbroken voice very low and small.

“All he wanted was what we take for granted,” Kyle told Kenny. “Sure, he could've done it different. And maybe he screwed up, I dunno.”

“What's that even mean?” Kenny wondered.

“Is it OK to show him, Keith?” Kyle asked, using the new name that Korx had chosen.

“Y-yeah,” Korx agreed, just sitting there on the grass, hugging his knees, rocking.

“He's a Drone, Kenny,” Kyle explained, laying a hand on Kenny's forehead. “He's a lab-created, agender being, made for only one purpose,” Kyle began, as everything that he knew of Korx, whether from mental contact, or just from what the child had told him, began to 'download' into Kenny's mind.

Kenny McCormick fell to his knees in the grass and wept as well.

 _We couldn't have done this,_ The Other mused.

 _No,_ Kenny agreed, _He helped us with everything, when he had nothing._

Days, it seemed, went by as Kenny just sat there, assimilating what Kyle had given him. When he finally stood, he faced Korx. “I'm so sorry,” Kenny offered, “All this time, I thought you were the bad guy.”

“He was,” Kyle shrugged. “He had a Manchurian Candidate-style trigger in his mind, but I erased it. It's all good now.”

“You mean like Bryan Bourne, in all those movies?” Kenny gasped.

“Yep,” Kyle nodded happily, as he and Kenny gave Korx a hand up. They linked arms across one another's shoulders as they started down the way towards the country road that turned to gravel, disappearing uphill and into the forest.

“What's down there?” Korx asked.

“I dunno,” Kyle answered, “Never been down that road before.”

“Let's go, then,” Kenny agreed, “Before we wake up and have to go to school!”

They were just getting started when Kenny glanced back. He paused, stumbled, and nearly tripped them all up. He jerked his arm free, and pointed back up the hill of the cemetery.

No one said a word.

All three of them just stared in wonder at the all-too-familiar spot in the cemetery.

There was no gravestone.

There was no second gravestone.

There was no marble statue of a boy.

And the statue of the weeping angel had become transparent.

As the three of them stared at it in surprise, it was Kenny who first realized what they were seeing. “I can see the trees behind it, right through it!” He gasped. Then he turned to face Kyle, his eyebrows going up. “I don't understand something, Kyle,” Kenny told him, “If you're alive after the accident, and you thought you weren't, because THAT Kyle seemed to be hiding something from you, and given what you know now, and all that you can do as Eclipse,” he paused, turning to Korx. “And you,” Kenny smirked, “You said you hadn't tried to prevent the crash yet? But now that you're stuck here, Tweek's angel statue looks like the trans-time changes are trying to wipe it out? It's pixelating, like Kyle does when he goes all metaphysical!” Kenny snapped his fingers. “Something isn't right, four years from now.” He looked at Korx again. “You weren't the only one, obviously, with access to your accelerator?”

“Uhm, no,” Korx replied, “There's a whole crew that works on it. Well, there was. Right now, what's the old saying? They're kicking a dead cow?”

“Whipping a dead horse,” Kyle corrected him, glaring at Kenny. “Don't tell me you still don't trust him...them?” He gave Korx a gentle shake, pulling the smaller child in closer.

“It isn't Keith that's the problem,” Another voice spoke up, an older, deeper tenor voice.

The three of them jumped, and spun around to see an older Kyle approaching them. He was a good six feet (~2m) tall, slim, and his red hair was styled in a forward brush cut with what looked like a few days growth of a goatee. He looked up from the startled boys to the angel statue. Kyle-Prime glared at him.

“You're the one who's hiding all this shit from me!” he accused his older self.

Older-Kyle nodded. “You have no idea, Mini-Me,” he smiled wanly, tousling Kyle-Prime's hair.

“Stop that!” Kyle-Prime protested. “I'm not a little kid!”

“Sure you are!” Older-Kyle disagreed, pinching the boy's cheek, “Wasn't I adorable?”

“I AM NOT FUCKING ADORABLE!” Kyle-Prime yelled at him.

“Uhhhhhm, remember the note about your ass, that Bebe wrote in fourth grade? The one that Stan read to the class when you got caught? Then she got tired of waiting, and now she's with Clyde?” Older-Kyle reminded him, and Kyle-Prime blushed. Korx looked around and down at Kyle-Prime's backside.

“Can't really tell, in those pyjamas,” Korx commented, “But I'll take your word for it.”

“It's a nice ass, yes, but Leo's is nicer,” Kenny settled _that_ argument, “And yes, you're adorable, Kyle. Now, can we get back to the subject at hand?” He pointed to the angel statue.

“You didn't tell them yet?” Older-Kyle asked Korx, who shook his head. “All right, then I will. What Korx did was basically the same thing as pulling the coil pack out of a car. With no coil to fire the spark plugs, a car won't run. He brought it here, and-”

“The meteorite that you gave Tweek?!” Kenny exclaimed, “That Tweek gave to Craig for _Christmas_?”

Korx ran a hand over their bald head. “Well, uhm, _sorta_?”

“Oh, FUCK ME!” Kenny threw up his hands, waving them about, “No wonder Tweek and Craig are targets, then!” He then paused again, and cocked his head to the left, staring at the angel again. “Wait a minute! If Korx _didn't_ do that the first time, when this whole mess started, then how'd the crash happen, to begin with?”

“You sure you're ready for this?” Older-Kyle asked them.

“Quit fucking beating around the bush, and just tell us!” Kenny demanded, fighting back the urge to kick the older version of his friend right in the nuts. “Because if you don't, I'm gonna leap outta here, soon as I wake up, and-”

“And do what? Go to WHEN?” Older-Kyle cut him off, “You think we haven't considered that, over the next four years? Go back and destroy the 'Vette, before Craig even sees it in the barn? Sabotage Red Racer, before he can take off for Denver, with Tweek? Incapacitate Tweek a few days before they go? I got news for you, Ken,” Older-Kyle dug in, tapping his own forehead with one finger, “Every fucking time that the Timeline shifts, you guys – and now Butters – retain the memories of each one. It might take a few days to soak in, but do you really want to risk undoing _everything_ that's been done? Everything that's been changed for the better?” He turned to Kyle-Prime, pointing up the hill at the gardener's shed. “Do you wanna risk Stan dying in that shed again? DO YOU? How about Clyde dying in agony from cancer of the everything? How about a badly crippled Craig spraying his brains all over that statue up there with a .44 Magnum? DAMMIT!” Older-Kyle wiped his face, a handkerchief appearing in his hand. “You did some good work, Kenny,” he went on, “And so did you, K,” he knelt down and hugged Korx. “But you don't know what's going on out on 285 four years from now. And _we_ don't want _you_ messing with it!”

“Who is 'we'?” Kyle-Prime had to ask.

“Us,” Two other voices added, as the boys turned to see another Korx and another Kenny. That Kenny wasn't as tall as Kyle, and neither one of them looked pleased. Older-Kenny, who reminded Kenny-Prime very much of the Kenny that he'd seen in the Void – when the lightning strike had first killed him – glared at his younger self. Older-Korx just watched. “Don't you _dare_ go leaping into _me_ , you little bastard!” Older-Kenny warned his younger self.

“I AM YOU, you IDIOT!” Kenny-Prime countered, “I'm NOT twelve, remember? I was seventeen when the lightning bolt hit me!”

“Could'a fooled me, Shorty,” Older-Korx commented. “Weren't we so cute?”

“WE'RE NOT CUTE!” The three children protested again.

“This is getting, like, _creepy_ ,” Kyle-Prime offered. “Can we just get to it? Please?”

“I may not be Eclipse, or immortal,” Korx-Prime then said, “But if it was me, and since this joker _is_ me,” he jerked a thumb at his older self, “I'd have concentrated my efforts on the moment of the crash. Melting Clocks, remember? Thought you might!” Korx sniffed, glaring at each Kyle in turn. “Yeah, there's a future up there that … _short_ -Kenny came out of, OK? He's seventeen in a twelve year old body. We get that!”

“Yeah, thanks for the broken leg and the concussion,” Older-Kenny snorted.

“Oh, fuck you,” Kenny rolled his eyes at his older self, who just smiled back at him.

“Ohhhhh-Kaaaaay!” Korx cut in, “ _Really,_ guys? You don't see it yet? What it comes down to, is that I fucked up, OK? I fucked up when I took the cobalt-iridium core outta the accelerator and brought it here, to Tweek! I didn't check to see if any agents were still in the field – as in, back the past – before I pulled the plug on the machine and went rogue!”

Everyone went silent for a while.

“You mean to say there's _another_ Futurist here?” Kyle-Prime pointed at the ground, “In _our_ year?”

“I think we've met,” Kenny-Prime nodded. “He was just here, getting his ass beat, before little-Korx stepped in!”

“Little?!” Korx-Prime exclaimed.

“And that's why the crash happened in the first place,” Kenny-Prime nodded, “It all makes sense now!”

“It _does_?” Kyle-Prime wondered. “So why'd Craig crash to begin with, if there was no meteorite here with Tweek, back then? The first time?”

The entire scene then shifted away. The sunny cemetery in spring was replaced by Route 285 in winter. A bright full moon shone down upon the scene, illuminating it in ghostly tones of palest blue and gray. Again, the wind whined, as if some voice were being carried on it. There were no cars, but there were those same skid marks on the pavement.

And the bloodstains.

But those bloodstains were pixelating, just as the statue of the angel had been.

“The crash initially happened because a car came out from behind the semi truck,” Kenny-Prime explained, “I've had years to think about it, and Craig remembered, before I first leaped, that he's seen four lights. The truck was oncoming. There was no reason for it to hit Red Racer. The car cut over to pass the semi, right in front of Craig. Craig then tried to execute a high-speed J-whip maneuver, avoid it. He just didn't have quite enough tire grip, or quite enough power,” Kenny nodded somberly.

Kyle-Prime didn't looked convinced, though. “Then why didn't the car cut back over, and avoid Red Racer? No, there's something not right here. Something that this fucked-up dimension isn't showing us.” He looked up at his older self. He shuddered. “Now I know how Stan must'a felt, when they tried to trick him. No, this looks like someone playing chicken with Craig. Someone in a newer car, with safety features like crumple zones and air bags. Red Racer is a '77, it's made of fiberglass, and all it's got going for it is the steel frame build.” Kyle-Prime looked around, and try as he might, he could not use his powers to get that odd place to show him the truck and cars. Hit head-on, an older 'Vette would literally shatter.” Kyle-Prime's hands balled up into fists. His nails dug into his palms, which bled. He then began to pixelate.

“Kyle, stop!” Older-Kyle ordered him, “You shouldn't know this yet! You shouldn't be here!”

“Not the first time,” Kyle-Prime told him.

“What's this 'chicken' game?” Korx-Prime asked.

“It's where two cars head right at each other, full speed, and you see who swerves first to avoid the collision,” Kenny-Prime explained, “And I only know of _one_ person who hates Craig enough to risk killing him and Tweek!”

In front of them, a ghostly shape of a car began to form up. It emerged a ways down the highway, behind the big rig's skid marks. It wasn't well-defined, but there was enough of the thing to tell what it was.

“Leave it alone, Kenny,” Older-Kenny told him, “It's taken four years, and-”

“So what do we do, then?” Kyle-Prime gasped, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he struggled with whatever it was that he was doing, “Just let days go by, until we're YOU?”

“YES!” Eclipse shouted at him, as that older Kyle's appearance shifted. “Like Kenny said, WE _are_ YOU! Just hang back and let-”

“So when did YOU figure it out?” Kyle-Prime interrupted him, “Now? Thirteen? Fourteen? WHEN?!” His pyjamas then shifted into his Eclipse costume, the two of them staring each other down behind their masks.

“That's a minivan,” Kenny-Prime nodded somberly at the ghostly shape of a vehicle. “A two-tone gray minivan!”

_It's my mom's new minivan, so I'm the captain, Kyle!_   
_I don't care, you're not making me wait in the van again!_   
_Fine, Kyle! But if something goes wrong out there on the planet's surface, don't hold me responsible, Kyle!_

“ ** _Cartman_**!” Kyle-Prime sneered, as the blood dripped from his hands. Overhead, the full moon turned blood red in a total eclipse.

“KYLE!” Kenny-Prime screamed at his friend, turning to see that where the two of them had stood, there now stood only one Eclipse. His black cape billowed behind him on the cold wind, as the mournful voice of the wind picked up. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning silhouetted the mountains.

The sky suddenly took fire with the indescribable light that Kenny-Prime remembered from the Void. The same light that seventeen year old Butters had seen in that altered future, when his Kenny had failed and leaped back to try again.

The same light that had been in Kyle's eyes on the morning that he'd reversed the timeline to prevent Tweek's heart attack.

“Awww, shit,” Both Kennys muttered, as the entire scene was swept away by that light.

 


	26. Murmur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one! The boys go back to school. Cartman goes before the judge, and circumstances prompt Kyle to let someone else in on his secret. Another minor shift to the Timeline takes place, as another threat arises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves the boys showering after gym class. Nudity is mentioned. No sex. Homophobia on the part of another student is mentioned, and minor violence for fist-fighting. There might be some italicized text lost, as my word processor has been frying that lately! I will edit this later if needed.  
> This chapter also gives a nod to one of my favorite authors, Eerily, and the wonderful "Small Lifeforms" story.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 26  
Untitled**

The first day back to school after Christmas vacation for the seventh graders of South Park Junior High was just like any other, with one small exception.

At one bus stop, Wendy, Lila, Theresa, and Heidi were chatting, as usual. Having long since returned to her old personable self, Heidi and the others were discussing the same topic that was being discussed at the next couple of bus stops some blocks over.

“I honestly don't know what I ever saw in him, or even _why_ I did it!” Heidi was telling the girls.

“I don't know,” Wendy agreed, “I nearly fell for him once. It's just something … mysterious? … about him?”

“CARTMAN?” Theresa gasped.

“I think I'm gonna be sick!” Lila groaned.

Wendy made a quite unladylike sound. “And to think – what he did to Craig's car?”

“And some of the things he said about them!”

“Tweek and Craig?” Theresa asked, smiling.

“I think they're just _ador_ able,” Lila added, which got the girls all to giggling.

At the next bust stop, there stood a boy in a blue poofball hat, one in a purple parka, and two boys with yellow poofball hats.

“I could swear I just heard a set of guitar chords?” Craig looked around, his hand clutching Tweek's, as usual. The weather had turned somewhat colder than usual, but being Colorado, that was no excuse for a school delay, as some other states did.

“I feel ridiculous,” Tweek complained, glancing at the yellow fuzz on his brown gloves that had come from Craig's new mittens.

“You look fine, Tweek,” Clyde repeated for the umpteenth time, giving the flap of Craig's spare chullo hat (atop Tweek's head) a flip.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look like a negative of Stan, with the red and blue thing?” Token asked Clyde, looking like a bizarre version of Kenny in purple in the coat he'd picked up in Switzerland. “Damn! It wasn't this cold in the Alps!”

“Well, d-desperate times c-call for d-desperate meeeeeh-” Jimmy put in. “Meeeeehehhh- ...measures, T-Tweek!”

“Arghhh,” Tweek grumbled.

“So, you think Judge Bonner will throw the book at Cartman?” Clyde wondered.

“He'd better,” Craig nodded, “Or the fat son of a bitch will just do it again!”

“It was just like in Kenny's visions, remember?” Tweek asked, which caused Craig's grip on his hand to tighten. Tweek noticed it, as well as the flash of emotion across Craig's face.

“Let's not start this again?” Token asked, as Clyde whimpered and leaned on Token. Token sighed and put his arm around Clyde's shoulders, rolling his eyes. “Clyde, I'm sure your next checkup will be fine!”

The school bus then rolled up, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow. Normally, he'd be riding the “short bus”, as the boys all called it. However, with the change to seventh grade, the routes were different and Jimmy was determined. He raised up on his crutches, swung both legs, and sort of “jumped” up to the first step.

“Do – you – need – some – help ?” Veronica Crabtree asked, seeming at a very rare loss for words.

“We got this, Ma'am,” Clyde grinned, as he firmly planted both mittened hands on Jimmy's buttocks and gave him a shove upwards!

“HEY! W-watch the ass, now!” Jimmy smiled at him, as he grabbed the pole and swung himself into the front seat.

“You're way too good at that pole thing,” Token commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Heya, Fellas!” Butters greeted them, as one thing that had not changed was that Butters was still the first one on, and the last one off. “Gosh, were we doing Superheroes today?” He asked, noting Tweek and Craig's clothes. “Was it a Spirit Day, or something? Costume themed?” Butters gasped, “Nobody told me!”

“Oh, God,” Tweek groaned, sitting there next to Craig in a matching outfit, yellow work boots and all.

“Craig's always _super_ ,” Clyde snickered, as the bus pulled out.

“Thanks for asking,” Token grinned.

“No, it's not costumes, it's just cold out, Butters,” Craig told him, deadpan as usual, “We have to keep Tweek warm.”

Tweek felt Craig's grip on his hand tighten. He'd been holding his hand, it seemed, for three years now, ever since they'd come out.

But today, that grip felt different.

 _I shouldn't have told him about the heart murmur,_ Tweek thought, twitching a little as he recalled how upset Craig had been over hearing the news. And now, he was treating Tweek like a total invalid. Instead of pulling tires off of Red Racer, or taking apart brake drums, Tweek was relegated to sitting on the stool at the workbench and disassembling the starter and alternator, and the like, near the heater. He wasn't even allowed to operate the rebuilt snowblower that Craig had salvaged from the trash man, much less touch a shovel.

Tweek sighed as the bus rolled on.

At the next stop, they picked up Lola, Annie, Red, and Bebe. Token got up so that Bebe could sit by Clyde, then sat back down by her, as the bus would soon fill up. Token tickled the back of Clyde's neck as he stretched his arm across the seat's back. Clyde smiled and put his hand on Bebe's knee. Bebe put Clyde's hand back on his own knee, but kept her hand over it. It was not until the next stop that Clyde realized that Bebe couldn't have tickled his neck, and they all had a good laugh over that as Clyde blushed deeply.

The bus stopped again, and Douglas got on with Kevin and Bradley and David.

As the next stop down the way, the usual lineup had changed.

The boy in the red poofball hat stood next to the boy in the green ushanka hat. The boy in the orange parka was propped up on crutches, but the skinny child to their right was dressed all in bright yellow and blue.

The scene was quiet, but for three hard sighs.

“Kyle, are you OK?” Korx/Keith asked, nudging him a bit. “You still look a little, you know, addled?”

“Addled?” Stan wondered, raising an eyebrow, “Is that a future word?” Stan was, after all, still trying to get the hang of Korx's new identity, and the fact that the child identified as agender. Having had some gender confusion himself, not so long ago, the whole idea seemed to have Stan quite perplexed.

“Frrmph!” Kenny mumbled behind his tight hood, bobbling his head at Stan. Stan reached over and loosened the hood, pulling down the brown scarf, so that they could hear him. “Thanks,” Kenny said, “Kevin bundled me up like that kid in _**A Christmas Story!**_ I could hardly use my crutches when he was done!”

“How's the ribs?” Korx asked.

“Achy. This cold isn't helping, and I'm tired of sitting on my butt in that chair!” Kenny replied, “But I'm OK.”

“So am I,” Kyle nodded, glancing at Stan.

“Dude, you _do_ look sorta out of it?” Stan reminded him, “Rough night?”

“Lot on my mind,” Kyle nodded. “Thinking about school, you know, and Kenny, and … Cartman.”

“Guess they bumped his hearing up?” Stan asked. “I hear this Judge Bonner isn't one to mess with.”

“Kyle?” Kenny repeated.

“I'm OK,” Kyle repeated back to him, but in all honestly, he wasn't.

As he looked at Stan again, Kyle felt very strange. Of all of them, Stan was the only one left out of the loop. Even Butters knew and understood what was going on. Somehow, Butters even remembered the shifted Timelines. Stan, however, did not. In all of their adventures, Kyle remembered, Stan had always been right there by his side.

But no longer.

Stan was, oddly enough – Kyle thought – now just another element, another variable, that was being changed right along with every alteration of the future that he, Korx, or Kenny made. Stan could not possibly share in what the other three of them were doing.

And poor Stan had no idea.

 _We've change his life, how many times?_ Kyle thought, _He has no idea that we've seen him die!_  
 _You've saved his life,_ The Other reminded Kyle, _And it's not like he's a pawn on some chess board.  
That's what it feels like, though._

Still, that didn't make Kyle feel any better. It was true, from what Future-Kyle had told him, Kyle realized, that Stan's dying in the garden shed at the cemetery had been avoided. Stan was working with his dad, Randy, more and more, and it seemed, developing a better relationship with him. His abusive sister, Shelly, was out of the house and gone. There was no hint of alcohol on Stan's breath, and Kyle couldn't help but to notice how clear his eyes were. _Shit, I even kissed him,_ Kyle reminded himself, _He could just as well have decked me, or never even spoken to me again!_

He glanced at Kenny behind Stan's back, as did Korx.

Kyle looked back ahead. He wanted so badly to tell Stan, but he knew that there was simply no way to do it. At least, no way to do it without sounding totally insane.

 _Guess what, Stan? Me and Kenny really are superheroes! I'm an Existential Superbeing, and Kenny's a time traveler who can't die!  
Yeah, that's not gonna work, _Kyle thought.  
 _Not unless you wanna end up in the mental hospital again,_ The Other reminded him.  
 _I could give him the memories, like I did with –_ Kyle began to form the idea, but he was interrupted.  
Loudly.  
 __ **“NO!”** Some Future-Kyle told him, making Kyle's head spin.

Stan caught him. “Dude! Did you eat this morning? You OK? It's OK, Scott gets on at the next stop with Bradley and those other two guys!” Stan started to panic, as he held Kyle up.

“C-cap and Earmuffs,” Kenny supplied, “Who are those two, anyhow?”

“Kyle didn't sleep too well last night,” Korx lied smoothly, although it wasn't really a total lie, “He's got a lot on his mind.”

“He always does,” Stan agreed, as Kyle steadied himself. He did not let go of Stan's arm, though. “So, whadda'ya think's gonna happen to Cartman today?”

“Two years in juvie,” Kyle replied without thinking, “Probably!” He covered, as Stan gave him an odd look.

“I guess the lineup here had to change sometime,” Stan sighed, which made Kenny look sharply at him. “Kyle, you OK now?” Stan asked, as Kyle hadn't released his arm.

Kyle found that he didn't want to do that, as he held onto Stan's arm, almost afraid that if he did, either he or Stan might fall into some abyss, or something.

“It's OK,” Stan continued to support Kyle, “The bus will be here any minute!”

 _He doesn't remember all the other lineups, when they were auditioning friends to replace me that year?_ Kenny wondered, still disturbed that he himself hadn't remembered all that time he'd spent drifting in that colorful 'wherever', before something had yanked him back and reset the Timeline again. Behind Kyle's and Stan's backs, Kenny saw Korx wink at him and smile. Kenny began to have suspicions about just what – or who – had yanked him back all those reset-years ago.

“It's just not the same without Cartman,” Stan sighed again.

“You miss him?” Kyle gasped.

“Not really,” Stan confessed, “But the insults were kinda fun.”

“Insults, for fun?” Korx wondered.

“Yeah, Baldy,” Kyle grinned, nudging his arm. “Now you insult me!”

Korx thought about it. He spit out a harsh word in Future-Speak.

“That counts!” Stan smiled.

“It's just not the same,” Kenny groaned, as the bus pulled up.

The doors opened, and Miss Crabtree screeched, “HURRY UP! WE'RE RUNNIN' LATE!”

“AIGHHHHH!” Kyle and Kenny both screamed, jumping back at the sight of their driver who had been murdered by the Left-Hand Killer some time ago.

Or at least, so the two of them remembered.

“DO YOU WANT AN OFFICE REFERRAL?” She screeched again.

The boys hastily got on, with Kenny hopping right up on his good leg.

“No way am I ridin' that short bus,” Kenny mumbled, clearly in pain again, and sneaking a look at the resurrected driver. He joined Butters, sitting close to him, and grabbing his hand for assurance. _This shouldn't surprise me! Why does this surprise me?!_ Kenny wondered.

“Nice coat, New Kid,” Miss Crabtree then complimented Korx.

“You _didn't_?” Kyle gasped, as they took their seat behind Craig and those guys. “ _Her_?!”

“First Chef, now her,” Kenny groaned. “Warn us next time, would ya?!”

“Yeah,” Korx shrugged, grinning, as the bus rolled slowly through the snow to its next stop.

Scott and his neighbors got on, taking the bench seats behind Stan's modified gang. Scott promptly began interrogating Kyle about his breakfast and his meds.

“Shouldn't you be on the other side of the galaxy?” Kenny asked Bradley, whose face went pale.

“Hang on, you know,” Bradley leaned forward to whisper in Kenny's ear, “that I'm an alien?”

“Oh, boy,” Kenny groaned, wondering just how badly the entire Cthulhu Trilogy had been altered. “Yeah, and I'm a Lovecraftian Horror, remember?”

Bradley thought about it. Then he smiled. “Sorry, space travel does that to me! Just don't tell no one else, OK?”

Kenny breathed a sigh of relief.

“I can't believe this,” Kyle mumbled, as he moved to join Butters and Kenny in their seat at the next stop.

“Scared the hell outta me, too!” Butters put in.

“She scares the hell outta all of us,” Stan agreed, as the bus rolled on.

“I need our schedule,” Kenny whispered to Butters, “I've got no idea where I'm going!”

“I do,” Kyle nodded, realizing that once he thought about it, their class schedule in this altered present came right to him from a near-future version of himself. He did confirm it with Stan and Butters, though. He then tapped Kenny's forehead with his index finger, and Kenny's eyes went wide.

“Don't _ever_ do that again!” Kenny hissed at Kyle, pinching the upper bridge of his nose as Stan often did.

“Just follow me, Ken,” Butters smiled at him, “We're in all the same classes now!”

“I can do that,” Kenny smiled back, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, which no one saw, as they were in the last of the filled seats.

No one but Miss Crabtree, that was. She'd seen them in the mirror, and swerved the bus to shake them up.

“NO MAKIN' OUT ON MY BUS!” She screeched.

“Shut up, you nasty ol' ho!” Stan retorted.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”

“I say I had to shovel a lot'a nasty ol' snow!” Stan replied, grinning.

“Oh, I got me a blower!” Miss Crabtree replied, which set them all off to laughing.

Craig leaned over and gave Tweek a peck on the cheek.

“AIGHHH!” Miss Crabtree swerved again.

“What about me?” Korx asked, as the bus filled up and rolled on.

“Your school records are all in place,” Kyle assured him, “You're just the new-old kid, OK?”

“Oh, OK,” Korx agreed, as they stopped to pick up the Goth Kids, plus Ike. Why Ike insisted on hiking down the way to get on the bus with Firkle every day, Kyle had some idea. He smiled at the thought, but still couldn't help but worry about how Future-Kyle had informed him that their parents were going to react to Ike and Firkle being a couple.

“So, are you gonna let us in on what you and _you_ decided to do last night?” Kenny finally broached the subject to Kyle, jerking a thumb in the direction of Craig and those guys. “Or are you just gonna sit there and pretend it's just another boring day at school?”

“I don't think we should do anything,” Kyle replied, the rising din of the chatter around them drowning him out to everyone else.

“SHUT UP!” Miss Crabtree screeched.

The bus stopped again, picking up the gang of older boys that they'd once recruited to protect them from Trent Boyette. Kyle noted that Davey was missing, though, and the gang seemed rather subdued as the Freshmen headed for the back of the bus.

At their next stop, Pip and Trent got on, along with Curly, Bill, and Fosse.

“All right, there, Gents?” Pip greeted them, sliding into the seat with Trent and Curly. Trent's eyes were downcast, though, and he looked upset.

Kyle bit his lower lip. He couldn't help but to remember his time-trip back to nursery school, where he's saved Miss Claridge and Trent, but also horribly wounded Trent in the process.

“Hey, Pip,” They replied. “What's wrong, Trent?” Kyle added.

“You tell 'em,” Trent muttered to Pip.

“I'm afraid that this beastly weather has postponed our trip to Winchester Cathedral,” Pip explained, “Trent's quite put off over the whole thing.”

“We couldn't get into either Gatwick _or_ Heathrow,” Trent complained, sounding a bit raspy, “And this weather has my voice all fucked up!”

“I do wish that Damien were here,” Pip said, “He could melt some of this snow off!” He patted Trent's hand, then adjusted Trent's red scarf. “It'll be fine, Mate! It's only a few weeks, then I can show you all the best of merry old England!”

The boys all groaned.

“England's gay!” Bill snickered.

“Hehe! The little songbird should'a flew south fer the winter!” Fosse snickered, and Pip turned around to punch him square on the nose! Bill leaned back and held up his hands.

“ _Damn,_ Pip!” Stan gasped.

“AND THAT'S A REFERRAL FOR FIGHTING!” Miss Crabtree screeched.

“Trade me seats, Pip,” Korx asked, as he moved over to chat with Trent. It seemed to cheer the glum boy up, although, from what Kenny could hear, it seemed that Trent didn't remember Korx at all.

“I remember when the name 'Trent Boyette' was enough to make us piss our pants!” Stan whispered to Butters.

“Me too!” Butters agreed. “I think I like _this_ Trent a whole lot better!”

The bus then stopped for its final pickup of the morning. Four more boys got on: Nate, Mike, Henry, Brimmy – and then a moment later – Gary Borkovec.

Gary had changed his haircut, and his mouth was filled with heavy-duty dental braces and headgear not unlike Shelly Marsh's had been. Gary took a seat with Brimmy and Henry, Henry leaning his head over onto Gary's shoulder.

Butters flinched, and Kyle and Kenny just stared in shock. After a moment, though, that shock wore off. _My God, it's no wonder he was so upset when Gary was killed!_ They thought.

“I had to,” Korx informed them, “OK? It just wasn't right.”

“Henry?” Kenny whispered to him.

“He had a psychotic break at Gary's funeral,” Korx told Kenny, “And ended up catatonic. I had to,” Korx repeated.

“So who got run over for the distracted driving awareness thing we had?” Kyle blurted.

About then, it all came back to Kenny.

“Who do you _fuckin'_ think?” Kenny groused, rolling his eyes as the memory hit him, about as hard as the car had. “That was _not_ one of the better ones!”

“Come to think of it, you've stayed alive a long time now!” Butters smiled at him.

“Thanks, Leo. Let's try and keep it that way, OK?” Kenny fretted, as the bus arrived at the school.

“B-but, what happens if you die now, Ken?” Butters whispered in his ear.

It was all Kenny could do as Butters' lip brushed his earlobe. He shivered. “I guess the day I die would just start over, Leo,” Kenny shrugged.

“Well, try not to, it's a bit of a wildcard,” Korx warned him.

“I'll try,” Kenny snorted, rolling his eyes.

Once parked, Butters and Kenny, Tweek and Craig, and Pip and Fosse all got office referrals.

As they filed in, Kenny realized that he had no idea who he was going to see in the office. He honestly didn't remember who the Principal had been when he'd been in the seventh grade the first two times. As the door opened, Kenny gaped, then wondered why he'd even been surprised. After all, it wasn't the first time that PC Principal had changed jobs, at least from Kenny's perspective.

“The hell is this?” PC Principal greeted them, as the boys all took seats. He noted Fosse's bleeding nose.

“That French kid hit me!” Fosse whined, so Pip hit him again. Given the state of his nose, it sounded more like, “Dat Fwinch tid hih me!”

Kenny and Butters exchanged a look, as if to say, _The fuck is wrong with Pip?_

“Sir,” Pip snapped to, “Fosse was teasing Trent again, about being a singer, and being castr-”

“So you hit him?” PC Principal interrupted, nodding and blushing a bit. “I see. That's a week's detention for you, Fosse, for making fun of that poor boy! And Phillip, you're deported!” The man grinned. “Fosse, how would you like it if _Trent_ made fun of your hair? Or _your_ voice? All right, Bro? You think accidents are funny? What? I bet you think cancer's funny, too, huh? OUT!”

Fosse fled.

“But I'm leaving for Winchester anyway, sir, weather permitting?” Pip grinned, as he got off Scot-free and was excused.

“So what did my favorite gay couples do now?” PC Principal smiled at the remaining four. “You weren't straight-bashing, were you? Don't tell me you forgot the forms?”

“Nrgh,” Tweek groaned as the Principal looked at their referral slips.

“I see!” The man opened his drawer and got the petty cash box out. “OK, then,” he handed each couple a $20 bill. “Since you're gay, I'm just gonna send you outta here with some money, OK?”

“ _Mon_ ey?” Craig snorted.

“Ken, you OK, Bro?” PC Principal then asked him, “Need help with the stairs? Did you eat breakfast? We have the breakfast program now, you know!” The Principal reminded him, which made Kenny feel a chill. He didn't remember school breakfast from seventh grade. “And I think you and Leopold should leave classes a few minutes early, beat the hallway traffic, like Jimmy does, all right?” The Principal went on.

“I did not start this program, so that you could just starve to death!” Kenny remembered the man berating him, in that other aborted future. Kenny was reminded fully of that aborted future where the Principal had found him, nearly dead, and carried him back to the cafeteria. Images spun by in his mind, merging, shifting, as if that Timeline weren't quite willing to go. That had been the day that Scott and Butters had saved his life, when he'd nearly died of malnutrition. He remembered how the man had picked him up, held him, and as Kenny recalled, nearly cried as he'd held him close.

Again, Kenny wondered what there was in this man's past.

“I...I'll be fine, sir,” Kenny answered, as Kyle knocked on the door.

“I was supposed to drop off emergency meds here, sir?” Kyle offered, which reminded Tweek to turn in his as well.

The small blond reluctantly handed the Principal a container of separate meds: anticoagulants, diuretics, blood pressure pills, and Ativan. Kyle turned in his diabetes supplies, and kept one insulin pen and a pack of glucose tablets in his backpack. The Principal filed Kyle's things next to Scott's, and buzzed Nurse Gollum.

Again, Kenny was surprised. It seemed that the staff of the elementary, in this new Timeline, had followed them all to junior high. He wondered if Counselor Mackey were there somewhere, as he remembered to register his meds, too.

“It's gonna be OK, Babe,” Craig assured Tweek, who was staring down at his boots.

Kenny remembered things differently, however:

“ _He's either forgotten him, or he's blocking him out,” PC Principal explained, “And if it's the latter, it's gonna be bad when he remembers. One of you guys come and get me, if he has problems, OK?”_

“ _Sir, why send him back to school with only one grading period left?” Token wondered._

“ _The doctors say it's time for him to resume his normal routine,” PC Principal explained, staring down the hallway. “He seems to be getting around OK? Poor kid can't stay in bed, or be a house hermit forever!”_

“ _Sir, you didn't change jobs just to get away from Ike's gang, did you?” Kyle had to ask._

“ _No, Bro, I didn't,” the man paused, as if searching for the right words. “I know what Craig's going through.”_

“ _Sir?” Clyde wondered._

“ _Just don't leave him alone, all right?” PC Principal told them._

“ _But, sir? What if he asks?” Clyde wondered, “What if he asks about him?”_

_The rest of the students filed in for the second algebra class, and PC Principal wrote the gang a pass._

“ _Lie to him,” he finally decided._

Kenny looked at Kyle, who seemed to be remembering the same thing. For just an instant, they were both standing in the hallway outside of the that first high school class of the day, Craig limping off down the hall with Clyde on his disastrous first day back at school after the crash and his long recovery.

The day that has set off this crazy adventure for Kenny.

“The big things on the shore don't change, when the ripples hit,” Kenny told himself, remembering Korx's explanation.

“All right! One of you guys come and get me, if there's any problems!” PC Principal dismissed them all. “And Tweek?”

“S-sir?” Tweek squeaked, twisting his borrowed chullo hat in his hands.

“It's gonna be OK, Bro,” The Principal took Tweek's hand. He turned to give Craig a look. Craig nodded back at him, but said nothing. “We've got a defibrillator in here, and we're gonna have CPR classes, too!”

“Nrghhh!” Tweek growled.

“I already know CPR, sir,” Craig put in, which made Tweek look sharply at him. “What? I took it in Cub Scouts, remember?” He then took Tweek's hands in his own. Both of them. Firmly.

Yet again, Kenny saw the look on PC Principal's face as the man ruffled Tweek's hair.

 _Something involving a young boy, maybe a friend or relative, went badly wrong for him at some point,_ Kenny theorized.

“C'mon, Tweek,” Craig took his hand, leading him out. “We'll go have Nurse Golly listen to your heart, if you're worried!”

“Thank you, Craig,” Tweek mumbled. “That's a funny nickname, though?”

“I dunno, it just came to me,” Craig shrugged, as they all went on into Nurse Gollum's office.

She made Tweek remove his jacket and shirt, listened to his heart, and took his pulse and blood pressure.

“Tweek, no heart murmur is a good thing, but yours is the best, well, you know what I mean? It's not bad at all. If you get winded in gym, just sit down and rest. If it gets worse, just have Craig bring you in to lie down,” The nurse assured him.

“See?” Craig smiled, as he quickly reached over to tickle Tweek's ribs. Tweek squealed, but didn't make any effort to get away as Nurse Gollum turned her attention to Kyle and Kenny and Butters.

“Awww!” Kyle groaned loudly, as she insisted on taking his blood sugar reading. As she pulled his sleeve up, the lights caught the silver Medic Alert bracelet on his wrist.

“Just like mine,” Tweek sighed, holding up his hand. “Can I put my shirt back on now, Miss?”

Craig sighed. “If you _have_ to.” He quickly gave Tweek's muffin-top at his waistband a pinch.

“CRAIG!” Tweek snapped, yanking his shirt on, and blushing deeply. The static made his hair stand on end.

“Are you OK this morning, Leopold?” Nurse Gollum then asked Butters.

“Well, uhm, yeah. I had a...you know? This morning. I'll be fine all day, Ma'am,” Butters blushed. “It's getting a lot better!”

After Nurse Gollum was done checking Kenny's ribs and the adjustment of his crutches, she then threw them all out.

“You see that?” Kenny asked, as he and Kyle and Butters hung back behind Tweek and Craig.

“Yeah, I saw it, too. It was a high school flashback, or a flash-forward,” Kyle nodded, as he quickly consulted himself some years hence. He blinked a few times.

“Well?!” Kenny demanded.

“Tweek's fine, up until...” Kyle didn't finish the sentence.

“You're still hiding it from yourself?” Kenny asked.

“I guess,” Kyle shrugged. “ _That_ Kyle isn't letting me see past Sophomore year. But he says Algebra's a bitch!”

“Probably for the best, trust me,” Kenny sighed. “I guess I'll take that then, and try to keep things on track. I was in General Math when this all started.”

“But isn't _this_ all new to you, Kenny?” Kyle had to ask.

“I'm tired, Kyle,” Kenny replied, as they made their way to first period math.

Along the way, Butters said nothing at all. He just held Kenny's hand and went along.

“Well, this isn't exactly quantum calculus in five dimensions, is it?” Korx pulled a face.

*

The day passed uneventfully, except for gym class, which was their next to last period. Basketball was always a good time, especially for Kyle. Butters, Kenny, Timmy, and Jimmy just sat on the stage at the end of the gymnasium and did some homework.

“I c-can't believe that K-Korx, er, uhm, Keith, d-doesn't know how to play b-b-basketb-b-ball!” Jimmy observed.

“You know, I think your head is getting smaller?” Kenny observed of Timmy.

“Is! Timmy!” Timmy agreed. “Th-thanks!”

Butters just sat, looking glum as he sketched away.

“It could be worse, Leo,” Kenny reminded him, tapping on the plastic brace on Butters' ankle.

“I know,” Butters sighed.

“What's wrong, Leo?” Kenny asked, “You've been quiet ever since the nurse's office this morning.”

“I was just thinkin' about what you and Kyle said, about sitting around, waiting for four years,” Butters sighed, “And about how you said you were tired.”

“Oh,” Kenny realized what Butters meant, and felt his heart sink. “Leo, it had nothing to do with you. I don't wanna spoil anything, but there's days coming that I remember, from that other life, that I can't wait to share with you!” Kenny told him, noting the blush rising on Butters' cheeks. “See, that's the best thing about being a time traveler – you can go back and do the best parts all over again!”

“Or the worst ones?” Butters countered, “You said you've failed before. You said that Tweek's still dead, in the future?”

“And I'll leap back as many times as it takes, Leo,” Kenny told him, “Not only because I know that I'll find Tweek and Craig both alive and well when I do, but knowing that I'll find you right where I left you, waiting for me.”

As the coach blew his whistle to signal the end of the period, Kenny leaned over and kissed Butters' cheek.

“G-get a room, you t-two!” Jimmy grinned, as everyone else was headed for the locker room.

“God, what I wouldn't give for a hot shower,” Kenny sighed.

“Uhm, which shower ya think Korx, erm, I mean, Keith will use?” Butters wondered. “Is it OK for him, uhm, _them_ , to use the boys' one?”

“I think if anyone cares, it won't be Keith,” Kenny shrugged, as the group gathered up their things to head off for the last class of the day while the others showered.

*

As school had been taking up that morning, Eric Cartman had been waiting his turn at the courthouse for his appearance before Judge Bonner. The old man hadn't been in South Park for very long, but his reputation had certainly preceded him. It was rumored that he always went for the maximum sentences, and when Kyle had asked his father, Gerald, the lawyer had shuddered and expressed his hopes that he'd never have to defend someone against this judge.

When it was finally Cartman's turn, he was escorted in by Harrison Yates and another deputy, who had delivered him from lockup. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit and chained hand and foot, the rotund boy took his place, glaring at the judge.

Judge Bonner noticed it.

“I'd wipe that look off of your face, young man, if I were you,” Bonner warned him, picking up a stack of papers a good six inches thick. “How the hell you've managed to stay out of prison, much less Juvenile Hall, is beyond me!”

“Don't I even get a trial?!” Cartman blurted.

“Fine! You want a trial?” Bonner smirked at him, picking up the first sheet of paper. “Let's read off some of the charges here, then! How about some highlights?

**[The following is taken and edited from the South Park Wiki page]**

Judge Bonner cleared his throat. “Let's see: Murder: you stabbed Rob Reiner, but claimed that he was trying to have you killed. You also were indirectly responsible for the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Tenorman, and caused the deaths of many others at a NASCAR race. During a zombie invasion, you killed zombies that would have reverted to human, if you'd only killed Kenny first. You also electrocuted several Mexicans to death with a taser after soaking them in water.”

“It was all self-defense!” Cartman protested.

“Really? How about prostitution, or impersonating one? Or vandalism? Broke a man's fence without telling him about it. You've destroyed the Stotch residence at least three times, and toilet-papered an innocent art teacher's home!”

“They had it coming!” Cartman exclaimed, as if he couldn't believe it.

“Attempted murder, and murder by proxy,” The judge went on, “Never mind the Tennormans, but also a turkey belonging to one Timothy Burch. You also conspired with others to have Sarah Jessica Parker murdered by moose hunters. You're constantly trying to convince others to kill Kyle Broflovski, too. You also manipulated Cthulhu in murdering hundreds of people whom you personally deem evil, which includes Hippies, Jews, the people of San Francisco, and Justin Bieber. You also kidnapped a boy named Billy Turner and forced him to play a jigsaw game by handcuffing his ankle to the school flagpole, and telling him you'd poisoned his lunch, in that he'd have to saw his leg off to get to the antidote!”

The Judge went on. “You also used your iPhone to send text messages to the wife of the anger management therapist, resulting in the suicide of his wife. Kidnapping! You banished Kenny, Stan, Kyle, Timmy, Clyde, and Token to a dark oblivion. You've also poisoned teachers and students, resulting in serious bodily injury, and the death of Cory Durant, when you spearheaded a ridicule campaign against him after he soiled his trousers!”

“Well, that was fuckin' hilarious?!” Cartman blurted, which earned him a glare from the judge.

“Moving along,” the Judge sighed, “Animal abuse! Attempted murder of your mother, the President of FOX Network, Kyle, Stan, and Kenny, as well as Butters. You've even attempted genocide, in trying to once have the Jews all killed, and then all of the non-ginger kids! You even tricked your own half-brother, Scott Tennorman, into eating his dead parents in a bowl of chili!”

“Dude, that was sweet!” Cartman laughed.

The Judge wasn't finished, though.

“Assault. I can't even begin to read all of these! You've even hit Token Black with a rock, and then later shot him! And then there was the riot over smuggled KFC when the food was illegal, resulting in a least one death! You've also been in possession of drugs, with the whole Crack Baby Athletic Association!”

“You should go after the NCAA for that!” Cartman protested, “For ripping us off!”

“A search of your house also turned up a stolen Glock pistol, and a taser!” Judge Bonner growled. “You've set the school on fire, as well as your own house! You've even committed grave robbery. And this whole Cthulhu thing? I don't even know where to start on that!”

“You had to be there, I guess?” Cartman just shrugged.

“Kidnapping and false imprisonment of Butters Stotch, as well as uncounted hippies. You held the Muslim family of Hakeems prisoner, later causing them to leave town. Practicing medicine without a license? Liposuction? Eye surgery? Countless acts of terrorism, war crimes during a Civil War reenactment, and you even infected Kyle Broflovski with AIDS, intentionally!”

“Kyle deserved it! Besides, we got cured,” Cartman shrugged.

“Violation and Obstruction of the Pure Food and Drug Act, when you opened _**Cartman Burger,**_ in which you flavored the meat by farting on it! You poisoned several students with laxative spiked cupcakes, including Mr. Mackey in the hallway, making him crap his pants and fart his whole body across the hallway. You've been a pirate off of Somalia, and have numerous counts of breaking and entering, and credit fraud with identity theft to get yourself, Clyde Donovan, Butters Stotch, Kevin Stoley, and Ike Broflovski to Somalia. You started a church, which involved embezzlement when you kept the money.

“There has been underage driving, hit and run, disrupting a NASCAR race, where you ran over Danica Patrick and several fans. Resisting arrest, child abuse, namely Butters Stotch again and again. Shoplifting, several counts. You blackmailed Captain Hindsight, and even constructed a meth lab to frame your own mother – whom I cannot blame for not even being here today!” The Judge snorted.

“Stupid bitch,” Cartman grumbled.

“You tortued the Hakeem family and Kyle with farting, to say nothing of what you did in faking your way into the Special Olympics and onto Chris Hansen's show when you pretended to have Tourette Syndrome. That was fraud! Forced confinement of hippies and Butters again. You've been a vigilante, you've been in contempt of court, submitted false evidence, committed slander, hitchhiked – which is a two year sentence in Colorado – and theft.”

The Judge sighed and poured himself a glass of water.

“And finally, trespassing, vandalism, slander, namely of Tweek Tweak and Craig Tucker, for being homosexuals!”

“Well, they _are_ homosexuals!” Cartman protested.

“So what?!” Judge Bonner countered. “How does that give you the right to harass them, or cut the Tucker boy's tires?”

At the back of the room, among the few spectators, a young man who hadn't been there just a moment before glanced over at the man in a black suit who was seated on the opposite side of the room. That man had been watching Cartman very closely, and the newcomer had noticed this. He stroked his short, red goatee and just sat quietly, watching.”

“So what? So what?” Cartman exclaimed, “So it's all on me, as usual? Why don't you have Kyle in here? His list is just as long! Or Kinny? He's a vigilante, you know! He's Mysterion! He got the idea from me!”

“Kenny McCormick has been sighted numerous times, Your Honour,” Yates put in, “And when Mysterion is sighed, Kenny always has an alibi. Right now, he has a broken leg. We once arrested Kyle Broflovski for being Mysterion, but he only faked that. No one knows who Mysterion is.”

“And while I don't support vigilantism,” Bonner nodded, “The aid given South Park by his actions cannot be overlooked. Still, it is not Mysterion on trial here, Mr. Cartman, IT IS YOU! Now, how you've gotten away with all of this for so long, I have no idea. It seems that your imprisonments in the past have taught you nothing, so, in accordance with the law, in only your most recent crimes, I am giving you the maximum sentence that the law allows.”

“What the fuck?!” Cartman blurted, which caused the Judge to slam his gavel and point it at the boy.

“And that's contempt, AGAIN!” Bonner growled, “Trespassing, stalking, harassment, hate crimes – namely homophobia related – and vandalism! Stalking, as in sharing photos you took covertly of Stan and Kyle kissing, and then posting online, resulting in damages to them! Destruction of property, resisting arrest, urinating on an officer!”

“WHAT?!” Cartman gasped, “I didn't piss on anyone!”

“You did, the night Mysterion busted you!” Yates grinned, seeming to enjoy the whole litany of charges.

“I peed my pants!” Cartman confessed, as it began to dawn upon him that he wasn't getting out of this one, “It's not my fault you got it all over you when you manhandled me into the car!”

“Eric Cartman,” Judge Bonner declared, “I sentence you to the _**Alamosa Maximum Security Juvenile Hall**_ until you are sixteen years of age. Would that I could give you a stiffer sentence! Four years hence, you will be eligible for release. But with your record, as already evidenced by one Mr. Romper Stomper, I would guess that you're going to be there until you are twenty-one years of age!”

Cartman just sat, mouth agape, unable to believe it. Always before, he'd gotten away with just about anything.

But not this time.

The Judge banged his gavel.

“Bailiff, take him away! Everybody else, GET OUT!” He shouted.

“IT'S NOT FAIR!” Cartman screamed, as the officers hauled him out, struggling all the way.

In the back of the room, the man in black just shook his head and watched.

The young man with the red goatee was gone, however. No one had seen him simply phase out of existence.

*

As the Judge's gavel slammed, and he passed sentence on Eric Cartman, several boys at _**South Park Junior High**_ suddenly got a bad case of the shivers. As they were just about to leave the gym, Kenny and Butters stopped. Kenny wobbled on his crutches, and fell over backwards to land in Timmy's lap! Butters' head was spinning, and he sat down abruptly on the floor.

In the showers, Kyle went down. Korx/Keith let out a small yelp of surprise, looking around the room as if suddenly frightened. Never minding that they were wasting water, the other boys dropped their soaps and washcloths and helped their fellows up and out to a bench.

“K-Kenny?” Timmy asked, confused, as Butters shook his head and pulled Kenny up.

“Who y-yelled?” Jimmy asked, looking back at the gym.

“What just happened?” Butters gasped, “It felt like the floor jumped out from under me?”

“Something's wrong!” Kenny hissed, looking all around, but seeing nothing.

He could feel it, though.

“Showers!” Kenny exclaimed, as the four of them took off in that direction.

“It's not blood sugar!” Scott declared, as he put away his kit. All around the room, a bunch of naked, dripping boys had been watching him test Kyle's and Keith's blood sugar levels.

“Pulse is OK,” Craig observed, holding Kyle's wrist, totally unphased by Kyle's faint. Stan looked up at him from the other side of the bench, where he knelt, holding Kyle's other hand.

“So's Keith's,” Tweek put in, “But he's really warm!”

“Dude, we just got out of a scalding shower!” Clyde reminded him.

“Maybe Futurists don't like it hot?” Stan shrugged. “Someone should call the Coach!”

Kyle groaned.

On the other end of the bench, Pip, Trent, and Scott were looking over Keith.

“I...I'm OK, thanks,” Keith muttered, slowly sitting up, and wiping his face with the towel Trent offered. He then leaned over and threw up.

“I don't think you're OK,” Bradley pointed out.

“KYLE!” Stan snapped, “What happened?”

“It...the room,” Kyle gasped, looking as if he weren't sure where he was, “The room spun? I...I didn't know what...th-there were voices?”

“Voices?” Token wondered, “Kyle, that's not good!”

“Be quite, Kyle,” a bunch of other Kyles spoke up in Kyle's head, stabilizing him, as he came back to himself.

“Well, like I said, his pulse -” Craig began to say again, but as he held Kyle's wrist, Kyle's arm flopped back onto his chest when Craig's hand passed right through Kyle!

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Craig gasped, pulling his own hand back and staring at it.

The others who'd seen it happen all jumped back. Keith, who'd cleaned up, tossed his towel and got up to go to Kyle.

“Oh, Jesus!” Tweek exclaimed, sounding as if he starting a prayer, “He did that once before! At the coffee shoppe!”

“What?” Stan asked, looking lost, as he covered Kyle with his towel. “He-he's gonna get a chill,” Stan mumbled, ignoring Tweek.

“KYLE!” Kenny yelled, as he came hopping down the steps on his good leg.

“What the hell just happened?” Craig repeated, as he and Tweek were studying Craig's hand.

“Huh?” Kyle mumbled.

“Kyle, Craig's hand just went through your wrist, like you were a ghost, or something!” Stan told him, poking at Kyle here and there with his index finger to see if Kyle were indeed solid.

“Stop that!” Kyle protested, as a couple of the pokes tickled. “I dunno what happened!”

“You phased,” Another-Kyle told Kyle in his head, “The Timeline just changed again!”

“What, how?” Kyle asked aloud, still dazed and not thinking.

“Kyle,” Kenny repeated, as he came hobbling over to him, the crowd of boys parting for him.

“It wud day!” Fosse laughed, his bandaged nose muffling the words, “It was gay!”

Pip hit him again.

Tweek and Craig looked up to glare at Fosse and Bill, as did Kenny and Butters.

Fosse and Bill grabbed their clothes and fled, still wet.

“You OK?” Kenny quickly asked Keith.

“Fine, yes. Thanks. No one seemed bothered that I'm -”

“Cool,” Kenny cut him off, turning his attention back to Kyle, who now seemed to be concentrating on something.

“I'm OK now,” Kyle protested, as Stan had thrown a towel over Kyle's head and was attempting to dry his hair with one hand while propping him up with the other.

“Uhm, you guys go ahead, get dressed, 'cause, well, you'll all get detention for being late,” Butters suggested.

“But what just happened?” Craig persisted.

“Just a tiny temporal disruption, it happens sometimes,” Keith explained, “You've just noticed your second one!” He smiled at them.

“I don't think I like it! GARGH! It's way too much pressure!” Tweek gasped.

“C'mon, Babe, let's go get an Ativan,” Craig suggested.

“But?” Tweek protested.

“Keith is from the future, so if he says it's OK, it's OK,” Craig simply accepted it, as usual. “Just ignore it, Honey, and it'll go away,” Craig assured him. “It was probably just an optical illusion, from all the steam.”

“Craaaaaig?” Tweek whined.

“Hey, Tweek,” Kevin Stoley cut in, “I been meaning to ask, did you _really_ get a vintage model of the _**Enterprise**_ from the fourth movie for Christmas? You know, I got a vintage 1980's Estes model kit of the original _**Enterprise, NCC-1701**_?”

Tweek's face brightened at once. “You should come over, then! I've got model glue, and paints, and...”

The conversation headed into what Clyde, rolling his eyes and sighing, then called “Nerd-dom,” but it did seem to calm Tweek right down.

“Uhhh, guys, you're standing around naked, geeking out over models?” Token reminded them.

As the other boys went to dry off and dress, Kenny realized that Stan wasn't going to abandon Kyle. Stan's face was pale, and his hands were shaking.

“I don't care what Scott says, you need to go to the nurse's office, Kyle!” Stan protested, his voice cracking. “You're sick! If you don't get control of this, you'll end up losing a kidney again, and -”

Stan froze.

He yanked the towel back, bending down to put a hand on Kyle's lower back.

“Where the fuck's your _scar_?” Stan gasped.

“Why would Kyle have a scar?” Clyde asked, holding his shirt in one hand and pointing at the scars on his side and chest. “Now _these_ are scars! Colostomy reversal, and chemo port!”

“Uh oh,” Keith groaned.

As the room emptied, with Butters repeatedly guaranteeing that they'd get Kyle to the nurse, the remaining boys all looked at one another.

“You wanna try it, K?” Kenny asked Keith.

“Stan, why do you think Kyle would have a scar?” Keith asked him calmly, seemingly over the whole ordeal. He then went to turn off the showers.

“I...he...he had a kidney transplant?” Stan fumbled, glancing at Keith, then quickly looking away. “His diabetes? He lost his kidneys when we were eight!”

“No, I didn't, Stan,” Kyle told him. “Thanks,” he added, taking the towel and continuing to dry himself. Stan fetched his clothes for him, looking confused.

“Now's your chance, looks like you got your wish,” Another-Kyle spoke up in Kyle's mind. “You have to tell him.”

“How do you remember that, Stan?” Kenny asked, glancing at Butters, who also seemed to remember.

“I...I just do? I remember crying, and wanting to give Kyle my kidney!” Stan protested. “Oh my God! It's alcohol poisoning, isn't it? I've rotted my brain, just like Dad, and I'm imagining crazy shit!” Stan fretted.

“You're imagining _something_ ,” Kenny observed, snickering.

“What?” Stan demanded, as he then noticed that he had an erection. He blushed. “Awww, shit! Sorry!”

“Well, Stan, you know, sometimes, it just happens,” Butters shrugged. “My dad told me once, it was a friend-pointer!”

They all just looked at Butters as if he'd gone insane as he explained it.

“Put your shorts on, and sit down,” Keith told him calmly. “It's probably just a fear or shock reaction erection. Now, Stan. I'm from the future, remember?”

“I _know_ that!” Stan snapped, yanking his trousers on.

“Well, sometimes, time can get changed. You all changed it once, remember?” Keith asked.

“Yeah?” Stan agreed.

“Well, this is what happens when those who can sense it realize that Time has changed again,” Keith shrugged. “We're the ones sensitive to it.”

“But...?” Stan fumbled, “If it changed, like you say, I mean, sure – _you'd_ know, but why us?” He thought about it as they all dried and dressed to head out. Stan took Kyle's arm, and would not let go. Kyle smiled at him and just let Stan help him along. “Are you saying I sensed a change in time?”

“Yes,” Keith agreed, “It's nothing to be upset about, though.”

“Amen!” Kenny exclaimed.

“But, fellas? What changed?” Butters asked.

“Cartman's sentencing,” Kyle realized, snapping his fingers on the hand that Stan didn't have hold of. In his head, all of the other Kyles who were that Existential Being known as Eclipse agreed.

“Cartman got nearly four years, not two!” Another-Kyle told Kyle.

“How do you know?” Stan asked, as they headed down the hall for the office.

“Stan,” Kyle sighed, smiling wanly at him, “There's something about me that I think you need to know.”

“What?” Stan wondered, as he turned to stare at Kyle.

Stan froze, almost Kyle pull him over.

As Stan stared into his best friend's eyes, he saw the green go hard. _Emeralds,_ Stan thought, as the green began to take fire with colors for which Stan had no name.

Colors that he'd never seen, or even imagined, before.

And as he stared, images, memories, and feelings began to flood his mind.

Stan March was eclipsed.

But unlike Eric Cartman, this time was gentle.

“Kyle?” Stan whimpered, taking both of Kyle's hands in his, and shaking his head in disbelief.

“I wanted to tell you, Stan,” Kyle looked away, and when he looked back, his green eyes were normal again.

“That day in Cherry Creek? The Tooth Fairy thing? When you blipped out? That was real?” Stan gasped.

“I can do it at will now,” Kyle admitted, nodding. “Stan, I'm a Metahuman, or something.”

Stan then stiffened as he realized what had just happened. He looked at the rest of them.

“Korx, erm, Keith, sorry! Is from the future. OK, that makes sense. But Kenny? Butters?”

“Uhm, well, when we get to Nurse Gollum's office, I think you better a big-boy diaper on, so's we can tell you the rest,” Butters shrugged, “'Cause it'll probably make you shit your pants!”

But as Stan Marsh thought about it, he realized that he already knew.

Kyle had just told him.

Kyle had told him, told him all of it, when Stan had looked into those blazing, beautiful eyes.

Stan looked hard at Kenny.

“You're immortal? And you came back in time?” Stan gasped.

Kenny simply nodded.

Stan looked at Keith.

“Damage control,” Keith shrugged, “But I'm kinda stuck here, now.”

“Butters?” Stan wondered.

Butters just shrugged. “Oh, I'm just along for the ride, with Ken!” He smiled, as they arrived at Nurse Gollum's office.

“I need to lay down,” Stan sighed, as they went on in.

*

“Don't sweat it, Fatass! You're _still_ here, aren't you?” Eclipse asked the man in black, as the wind caught his black cape.

“Fuck you, Dude!” The man in black retorted, “He got _four_ years! Maybe six! It was supposed to be two!” He glared at the younger man. “YOU did this! This is all your fault, Eclipse!”

“How is Judge Bonner's ruling MY fault, you idiot?” Eclipse asked, his voice clear from behind his full moon mask.

The two of them faced one another behind the courthouse's back hedges, neither making a move, but still, each appraising the other.

“I got damn lucky, and you're not going to ruin it again!”

“YOU ruined it yourself, the first time!” Eclipse retorted, “You screwed yourself over, out of spite! It just proved how psycho you really are, to undo your own future! I don't have to worry about it. You're your own worst enemy! Why don't you go eat a box of Snacky Cakes and see if that turns you into a deadbeat mechanic again? Or maybe a _**McDonald's**_ manager*?”

“You were there, at sentencing! You were just there!” The man in black crooned.

“I should have erased your mind – his mind – for good, last month!” Eclipse snorted.

“Yeah, young Cartman's crimes? _You_ brain-raped a little boy!” The man in black retorted.

“And you're a murderer!” Eclipse challenged him, “And that little boy, as the Judge just said, is a _monster_!”

“So it's all roses and clover for you all, then? Everything's great in South Park for everybody, isn't it?”

“Everyone but _you,_ ” Eclipse corrected him, “And don't try and pass blame for all this onto someone else! This was all _your_ doing!”

“Funny, it looks to me like it was all Kinny, and that ridiculous little eunuch Drone!”

Eclipse sighed. “So somehow, I sent that bolt of lightning that sent Kenny back in time? Are you insane?” Eclipse paused. “Never mind. Redundant question!”

“There are so many ways I could you fuck you over, Eclipse!”

“Name one? It doesn't matter what you do, Fatass! I occupy every point in Time simultaneously, remember? Even if you kill me, the Others will all know it. Every ME that there is will know it, future and past, and all of us will retaliate! The only thing you can do is kill this body, at this time. You can't kill my _Existence_!”

The man in black laughed, but it was cold, maniacal laughter.

Eclipse thought of The Joker from the old Batman movies.

“But just look at all the trouble you're all having preventing me from killing Tweek! There's _three_ of you now, and he's _still_ dead!”

Eclipse made a low, guttural sound. He raised his gloved hands high, and the ring of fire design on his chest ignited in multicolored flames. The courthouse's back yard spun away, replaced by a dark cemetery under moonlight. The silvery light then began to turn dull red, as the full moon was eclipsed. The wind blew cold, picking up, until it was howling.

There was a voice on that wind.

“IS HE?!” Eclipse demanded, pointing a long arm at the hilltop.

In the dimming, red moonlight, the lonely statue of the weeping marble angle was pixelating.

“It stands alone now, but not for much longer!” Eclipse declared, and the sound of his voice joined with the one on the wind. “And when it vanishes, when WE catch up with it, all that you know, all that you've done, will be undone! FOREVER!”

Eclipse's last word echoed across the countryside like thunder as the night sky again took fire with all those nameless colors.

“We've won,” Mysterion added, as he appeared out of the night at Eclipse's right hand.

“We are the only two factions left,” a young bald person dressed in yellow agreed, as they appeared at Eclipse's left. “You, and us.”

“The others are all trapped in their future, and you're stuck here,” Mysterion warned the man in black.

“The perils of depending on tech,” Korx shrugged. “Then again, I _like_ it here!”

“Yeah, well, not checking to see if I _was_ here is where you fucked up, Korx!”

“Perhaps _you'd_ like to be wiped from Existence?” Korx threatened him.

“How about I just go to the school, and wipe those _fags_ outta existence?” The man in black countered, “Right here, right now?”

“How about I follow you there, and lobotomize young Kevin Stoley?” Eclipse countered, his voice going back to normal.

“Because all the factions agreed, Stoleys are off limits,” the man in black grinned.

“Try me!” Eclipse dared him.

The man in black raised his left arm, yanking back his sleeve. On his wrist, his Stoley-X-1a Temporal Discriminator lit up in blue.

“I've still got one jump left!” He threatened the trio.

“Make it a good one,” Korx shrugged, “'Cause you won't get another one! If I were you, I'd go home!” He snickered. “But isn't that what you always do?”

“Yeah!” Mysterion laughed, “'Screw you guys, I'm goin' home!' Right?”

“Fuck you all!” The man in black sneered, as he poked the glowing blue face of the Discriminator.

He vanished.

“I think it's time to tell Kyle, ad infinitum,” Mysterion held up his hands.

“Shit!” Eclipse complained, “That was the _one_ thing I didn't wanna do!”

“You _did_ kinda force his hand,” Korx reminded him.

Eclipse bowed his head, concentrating. “He's coming!” he said aloud, “The man in black is coming, Kyle!”

*

As the boys were telling Nurse Gollum what had happened in the showers, Kyle's eyes went wide. He caught his breath, then looked around the room wildly.

“Kyle, what's wrong now?” Nurse Gollum asked, as she was taking his blood pressure and pulse.

“He's coming,” Kyle breathed, as his eyes lit up in color again.

Nurse Gollum took a step back, staring at him.

“Who's coming, Kyle?” Stan asked. “Is this things all changing again?” He asked Keith.

“The man in black!” Kyle said softly, his gaze going unfocused as he began to pixelate. “The last faction.”

“He's coming – here? Now?” Keith raised a makeup eyebrow.

“Dude, what the _fuck_?!” Stan gasped, “Are you, like, beaming up, or what?”

Then Kyle stabilized.

“I'm fine,” Kyle told them. “Like I told you, Stan – that was just me getting intell from another me.”

“So, that was why Craig's hand passed through you?” Stan nodded. “I get it!”

“I assume that older-you _told_ you what this guy in black wants?” Kenny interrupted.

Kyle nodded.

“He's gonna take his last shot at this,” Kyle informed them, “He's not gonna wait any longer.”

“Who's he coming for?” Keith asked.

“He didn't say. Could be any of us,” Kyle shrugged.

“Boys?” Nurse Gollum asked, “I don't know what you're all -” she stopped as Kyle's eyes flashed. “-still doing up? I thought I told you all to lie down?”

“Nice,” Kenny winked at Kyle. He turned to Butters. “Start sketching, Leo. Remember that guy who showed up to talk to Cartman, after we took out the Motivation Corp offices? When the fake future-selves were here?”

“Yeah?” Butters wondered, “Why?”

“That's who's coming,” Kyle nodded. “We'll need a sketch to give to Detective Yates.”

“HOLY SHIT, Dude!” Stan exclaimed. “ _Seriously_?! That was REAL!?” Stan looked ill. “Future-fucking- _ **Cartman**_?!”

“He's not taking this too well?” Kenny made a face as Nurse Gollum got them all settled on cots.

“They never do,” Keith sighed, turning back to Kenny. “I think I'd better get off the bus at your house tonight!”

“Why?” Kenny asked, just as the door opened.

Bradley and Clyde were supporting Kevin Stoley, who was crying.

“Migraine, Ma'am!” Bradley said, “It just hit him outta nowhere!”

END 26

*Note: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850562> by Eerily, “Small Lifeforms”. The McDonald's manager!

 


	27. Stan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan adapts to knowing about the time shifts. The boys attempt to remove the crystal from Timmy's spare wheelchair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were rained out this weekend, so I spent most of it working on this chapter. I'll fix any typos, etc., later! Please visit the link to hear the old song that inspired this chapter.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat 27**

**Stan**

**or**

**  
I Wanna Be in Pictures**

**Note:** inspired by the song “Pictures”, by Atlanta, 1982.

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTOuzhqos0c>

*

It was a quiet bus ride home, at least, for five of the passengers.

“Come over to my place tonight,” Kenny suggested to Stan, who was still looking a bit green, despite spending last period in the nurse's office. “Sneak out if you have to. Kevin goes to bed early, since Randy's working him so hard.”

“What about the social worker?” Butters wondered.

“She's so freaked out over how well we're doing without parents, that she doesn't know what to think!” Kenny smiled, pleased with that change to his past.

“Uhhh, y-your mom?” Stan wondered.

“Still in rehab,” Kenny explained, “Give her another month.”

“Ken, what about my mom?” Butters asked.

“She'll be fine, in a few months,” Kenny assured him.

They rode on, the quintet just listening to the usual chatter on the bus. Eventually, they reached the bus stop where Craig and those guys got off.

“So, this is all about Tweek, then?” Stan whispered to Kyle, who seemed a bit jumpy.

Kyle nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet. As the one Existential Being who was Eclipse had gone into “red alert” mode, Kyle's head was abuzz with what he called 'temporal chatter'. It was, Kyle thought, like listening to a choir singing in infinite-part harmony.

“We can talk about it after dinner, if you're up to it,” Kenny suggested, watching Tweek head off down the sidewalk with Craig. “I guess Craig's going home with him tonight?”

“So, they're really serious, then?” Stan had to ask, “It's not just an act?”

“No,” Kenny answered flatly, suddenly realizing that he was probably gripping Butters' hand just a bit too hard for comfort. “It's no act.”

“Let me get this straight,” Stan repeated, although he had no choice but to believe what was spinning through his head, thanks to Kyle, “In about four years, Craig is going to have that car done, and he crashes it on Route 285, killing Tweek. Life goes on, until you commit suicide in what's left of the car, which is in the school garage?”

Kenny nodded. “Life goes on for some,” he corrected Stan, “Not everyone. In the Prime Timeline, a lot of familiar faces were missing.”

“Then a lightning strike, or something, sends you back in time?” Stan gaped at him, “And all this time, you've been immortal?”

“I've died a thousand times,” Kenny sighed, “Or what feels like it. I'm just glad that someone remembers it now.” He paused, watching as Kevin Stoley's friends got off. Kevin had since been picked up at school by his mom, and taken to his pediatrician.

“And you've tried to prevent the wreck?” Stan repeated.

Kenny nodded again, his face grim. “And I failed.”

“Faces in the hallway,” Kyle muttered, “Faces without hats.” He looked out the bus window, his eyes green, but scanning the passing landscape, looking for something.

For someone.

“And you're saying that Cartman caused all this? That he made Craig wreck?” Stan asked.

“It sure looks that way. We've been studying that crash site almost every night – for years,” Kenny sighed.

“The man in black,” Kyle mumbled, “Cartman came back. But our Cartman ruined him.”

“Does he do this a lot, I mean, before time got all messed up?” Stan wondered.

“I dunno,” Kenny shrugged, “He's never done this before. As far as I can figure, Cartman in the future had his own time travel company, and he made the mistake of coming back to tell our Cartman how successful he was. The Fatass decided to screw him over, and changed that future. Somehow, that future got restored.”

“Don't look at me,” Keith/Korx put in, “I never paid that much attention to Cartman. That's probably how I fucked up, and ended up sabotaging the accelerator, stranding him in this time period.”

“That's what I don't get,” Butters said, as they approached their familiar bus stop, “If that was a thousand years from now, how'd Cartman get there?”

The bus stopped.

“The bureau had agents all across the past,” Keith answered, as they helped Kenny off the bus.

“Can you get home OK?” Stan asked, holding Kyle by the arm as they disembarked.

“Yeah, just come over tonight,” Kenny reminded them. “You taking Kyle home?”

They all waved to Butters as the bus pulled away.

“I think I better, yeah,” Stan nodded, watching as Kyle scanned the area.

“He's not here,” Kyle said, his voice still low, his face confused.

“So, you're telling me that there's an adult Cartman out there, even though our Cartman is in juvie now for four years, and that his future self is out to get us?” Stan gasped.

“Pretty much, Keith shrugged, “Sorry about that!”

“You didn't see this coming?” Stan asked.

“Stan, we can't really see _anything_ coming anymore,” Kenny told him bluntly, “Not counting Kyle and Korx, I mean 'Keith', I've done so much changing to the future that it's hard to tell what's gonna happen!”

Kyle stumbled once, and Stan caught him.

“OK, Kyle, all of you Kyles!” Stan told him, “You've gotta get your act together!”

“Right,” Kyle smirked, “One Kyle. Right now.” He gave Stan an odd look, and as his eyes flashed again, Stan flinched. He did not let go of his friend's arm, however.

In that look, Stan Marsh began to remember things that had not yet – or might not even – happen to him. His face went pale.

“You found me...me-” Stan began, but found that he couldn't say that last word.

“In the cemetery shed, yes,” Keith interrupted, “Kyle, you're spilling too much, too fast, into Stan. Stop it!”

“Leak,” Kyle said, as they headed up the walk to Kyle's house, “Sorry.” He looked hard at Stan again. “Sorry.”

“No, I'm the one who should be sorry, for putting you through all that,” Stan sniffled, as years worth of Kyle's pain hit him. Stan's knees nearly buckled.

 _I abandoned him,_ Stan thought, _I abandoned him, and he suffered for my being such a dumbass!_

“It's not gonna happen now,” Keith assured him, as they went on in. Fortunately, Kyle's parents weren't home yet. “Let's get Kyle up to bed and let him sort this thing out.”

“Good idea,” Stan agreed.

As they got Kyle out of his clothes and into bed, Stan became painfully aware of feelings that he'd never realized that he had before. He wasn't sure what they were, but by any name he could put to them, they were painful. He sat on the edge of Kyle's bed, just watching him, wondering how he'd missed the change in his best friend's appearance, even. He glanced at the picture on the night stand – one of himself and Kyle, just the two of them, taken on some special trip to _**Casa Bonita**_.

Stan found that he didn't even remember it.

_Junior High was when it really fell apart. “Hey,” Stan would say, never noticing the longing on Kyle's face – a face that he used to be able to read, and know what was going on before Kyle even had to speak. “Stan?” That unchanged, boyhood voice would call after him in the hallways, most times never even getting a glance back over the shoulder. Even if he did, without the green hat or the high 'Jewfro', Kyle would disappear into the crowd. Stop off at the locker, get a nip from the flask, and head to the next class. Maybe cut up a bit with Bill and Fosse, and that other kids. Not that they were friends, but they could get their hands on booze, and sometimes weed. Pete had the really good weed, and he was always up for something, since Michael and Henrietta had stopped talking to him. It was a long walk home, but the school bus was too noisy. Most times, he'd walk. It didn't really register, that forlorn face he was seeing, pressed up against the dingy window. That face that watched him as the bus rolled by. It was winter – hell, it was always winter – but there was warmth in the flask. If his parents knew there was something wrong, they didn't say anything. Was it normal for a seventh-grader to take a nap after school? Did anyone notice that his grades were slipping? “Stanley, there's __________ in the fridge, you can warm up. Finish your homework!” And then he was alone. No it, wasn't normal._

“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled, and before Stan could look away from those inhuman eyes, he saw something else: Stark's Pond. The room spun, and Stan grabbed Kyle's hand.

But as Stan touched him, a memory flashed through his mind: Stan had been drinking. A lot. He'd just gotten done throwing up when Kyle had arrived at Stark's Pond, at the dock, as Stan had called him. He'd been babbling incoherently, and it had taken Kyle several minutes to figure out where he was. Stan and Wendy had had another argument, and Stan hadn't taken it well. He was too drunk to even stand up when Kyle had arrived, and the vomiting had been spectacular.

“Stan, it's cold out here,” Kyle suddenly remembered telling him, “C'mon, we gotta get you home.”

Stan had slurred some kind of reply at him, and then just rolled over on the dock. Kyle remembered fearing that Stan would roll off into the freezing water, or at the very least, pass out on the dock and freeze to death.

He saw, in his mind, what Kyle had seen: Stan's dead body in the gardener's shed. It was as if he were seeing it all through Kyle's eyes, Stan realized.

“Stan? STAN?” Kyle remembered yelling at him, trying to drag Stan to his feet, but Stan was simply too heavy. In his condition, he was no help at all, and only dead weight.

Kyle had called 911.

Stan watched as Kyle took off his own coat, wrapping that other, drunken Stan with it. Kyle held him, trying to keep him warm, trying to keep him talking. Kyle was crying and shivering. It was so damn cold, and Kyle got sick so easily.

At the hospital, Stan had just been admitted to the ER when he'd begun to show symptoms of alcohol poisoning. He'd been cold and clammy, his lips already blue, and after throwing up, he'd pissed himself as Kyle was trying to drag him off the dock. He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness. In the ER, he'd had a seizure, and ended up admitted. Randy and Sharon having had enough, and Stan spending some time in rehab. The memories continued to hit Stan hard and fast. Kyle remembered Stan refusing to see him. Was he Kyle, or Stan? He wasn't sure. He remembered Kyle coming to see Stan anyway. He remembered Kyle sitting outside Stan's door, waiting. He remembered the shouting match in which Kyle had finally broken down in tears, reminding Stan that he'd almost died. Reminding him that he _would_ have died, if Kyle hadn't found him.

Stan bowed his head as the vision cleared.

“How could I have done that to him?” Stan mumbled, touching the picture with his free hand. He looked up to see that Keith hadn't noticed. He seemed busy.

Stan said nothing at all.

Try as he might, he didn't remember the night that picture had been taken.

“There's not much I can do, yet,” Keith was saying, as he rummaged about in his dresser drawer. Stan watched as the bald child put on a large wristwatch. “This thing isn't working yet, but the fact that Future-Cartman's _was_ tells me that it can.”

“That's a discriminator, you said?” Stan asked.

Keith nodded. “In thirty years or so, Kevin Stoley will come up with the design for it. A few more years, a bit of research, and a lucky hit by a tiny meteorite, and he'll get the first prototype to work. He'll manage to jump back in time by a few minutes, meet himself, shit his pants, and realize that he's onto something!” Keith turned to glare at Stan. “You know about the meteor rock that Tweek had? That he gave to Craig?”

Stan nodded.

“Don't mention that to anyone!” Keith advised, “If Cartman finds out about it, we're fucked, I think.”

“What is it?” Stan asked, watching the colors in Kyle's eyes come and go.

“The largest chunk of a combination of elements that don't exist on Earth,” Keith explained, “Cobalt-54 being the most important of them. It's what powers – powered – the core of the accelerator in my time, a thousand years from now. I stole it when I sabotaged the machine.”

“Why?” Stan wondered.

“Because I got sick of being a Drone,” Keith complained, “And I liked it here. I didn't want them coming back for me. I have no desire to take up residency in the Cambrian Era.” Keith sighed. He then went back to his drawer, pulling out what looked like a first aid kit. He studied it for a bit, as if unsure of what to do with it. “Why not?” He then shrugged his shoulders, pulling out what looked like a hypo-spray from _**Star Trek**_.

“The hell is that?” Stan wondered.

“Future first aid,” Keith told him, adjusting the dial. “Hold out your arm.”

“WHY!?” Stan blurted.

“Because of your addiction tendencies,” Keith told him, as he jammed the device into Stan's arm. It hissed. “Now prop up Kyle's chin. This one has to go into an artery.”

“DUDE! What the fuck?!” Stan complained, rubbing his arm, “That fucking _hurt_!”

“Sorry, but need to stabilize Kyle,” Keith explained, as he injected him, “His neuro-synapses are getting overwhelmed. He wasn't ready for this, you know. This will stabilize him. It's probably the same shit that older Cartman gave your Cartman, after Eclipse fried his brain.”

“Who?” Stan asked.

“Eclipse. That's what Kyle calls himself in this new persona.”

“Oh!” Stan gasped, “Cool!” He paused. “Hang on, Kyle fried Cartman's brain?”

“Not so cool, if he runs amok with it,” Keith explained, “Which he almost did.” He watched as Kyle's eyes closed. “He'll sleep for a couple hours. Stan, Kyle could really be dangerous, if he wanted to. Someone like him only comes along once in a thousand years, and in my time, when we find one, he gets killed.”

“WHAT?!” Stan exclaimed, “You can't kill Kyle, you bastard!” Stan hovered protectively over him.

“Well, no, not now! It seemed like a good idea, at first,” Keith sighed, “Which is probably why he smashed my good discriminator, and stuck me here. I was stupid, playing the role of the bad guy, at first.” Keith sat down in the computer chair. “You guys were all so good to me, I should have known it'd all be the same when I came back.”

“So, you've been time traveling around, you and Kenny?” Stan asked.

“Fighting is more like it,” Keith admitted, “Kenny didn't like me much, either, at first. Then again, I wasn't too happy with him suddenly mucking up the Timeline.”

“So what was it you did, in your time?” Stan wondered.

“Temporal coordinator, rather, damage control,” Keith answered, “If the bureau found something going wrong, me or another Drone would get sent back to fix it.”

“Like Tweek getting killed?” Stan asked.

“Tweek didn't die, the first time around,” Keith told him, “And neither did Kenny. Before I could get to Tweek, Kenny blew his damn head off in the high school garage, and apparently created a paradox so big that the Universe, Fate, maybe even God, tossed him back far enough out of the temporal blast radius. Good thing I was back on assignment, or he'd have wiped me out – again!”

“So why's Tweek so damn important?” Stan wondered.

“It's not really him. Like I told Clyde and them, it's the offspring. You've got about fifty generations of offspring between you and me, and if you lose one person, the whole future can go tits-up!”

“But Tweek and Craig are gay?” Stan pointed out. “It's not like they're gonna have a baby?”

“Doesn't mean anything, or won't, in about ten more years,” Keith told him, “The tech already exists for three-parent babies. You get a donor egg, yank out the genetic material, and replace it with a gene set from each dad, and presto! You got a baby with his dads' genes. In this case, the egg's X-chromosome will be replaced with Tweek's X, and fertilized with a Y from Craig.”

Stan's eyes went wide. “'His'? You mean...?”

“Let's just say that one James Charles Tucker, or J.C., is going to have a very busy life,” Keith nodded, “But we can talk more about this at Kenny's later, OK?”

“OK,” Stan conceded, his head still spinning from what he'd seen, and from whatever Keith had injected him with.

“You saw something just then, didn't you?” Keith asked him, as he began evaluating their homework.

“Yeah,” Stan muttered a reply. He picked up the photograph. “I don't even remember this.”

“It must have been very important to Kyle,” Keith told him.

“I know,” Stan's voice broke, looking away, glad that Kyle was asleep and couldn't see him.

“You saw the shed?” Keith pressed him.

“Yeah, and...and the d-dock,” Stan just managed, before he covered his face with both hands and cried.

“Most people would trade everything they have for a second, or even third, chance,” Keith informed him, as he went through the homework as if it were child's play, and began making copies. He did not, however, move to comfort Stan.

It wasn't his place.

There was silence for a moment, then Keith got up.

“I'll just leave you three alone,” Keith then said, as he left the room.

“What the...?” Stan exclaimed, as he looked up to see a figure in black and gray standing in the far corner of the room. He wiped his face on his sleeve, blinked, and checked again.

The boy was still there, as Stan realized that, yes, it was another child.

One in a strange costume.

The only color to his monochromatic garb was the fiery ring of an eclipsed sun on his chest. His face was obscured by what looked like a mask made to resemble the full moon, beneath a hood of black. As he stepped forward ,his black cape billowed on some unfelt breeze. He offered a hand, concealed by a snug black glove, but Stan recoiled, pressing himself back into the corner where Kyle's bed and the wall met. Kyle didn't stir as Stan moved between him and the newcomer.

The figure took a step forward, then stopped. He carefully took his gloves off, finger by finger. He stowed them in a pocket of his black cargo pants, then slowly lowered his hood and mask.

“Hello, Stan,” Eclipse offered his hand again, taking another step forward.

He looked just like the Kyle that Stan knew.

Stan looked from Eclipse to Kyle and back again. “But he's...and you're...?” Stan fumbled, looking back and forth, clearly shocked.

“Takes some getting used to,” Eclipse admitted, lowering his hand. “I'm not here to hurt you, Stan. You've done that to yourself enough already.”

“Are...are y-you really here?” Stan asked, “Or am I hallucinating?”

“Yes, I'm here,” Eclipse told him, glancing at Kyle again. “I figured you'd take it better, if I appeared the same age. College-Kyle wanted to come, you know, but we figured he'd scare you.” He waited. Stan didn't reply. “You're _still_ scared, I understand. I wanted to tell you about me sooner, you know.”

“Well, why the fuck _didn't_ you?” Stan squeaked. “I mean, _damn,_ Kyle! You're a real superhero!”

“And _that's_ why,” Eclipse replied, “You're not taking this very well?”

“No shit!” Stan retorted, “After what I just found out? After what I just _saw_?! Shit, Kyle! I just saw myself nearly die, and after that, I saw you finding me already dead!”

“Dude, it was your own fault,” Eclipse shrugged, “We all did everything we could.”

Stan paused, his face a study in shock. Stan couldn't believe what he'd just heard. “You sure _sound_ like Kyle!”

“He didn't mean to hurt you, Stan,” Eclipse explained, “Cartman forced our hand, though. That, and we had to do something when you started remembering the initial Timeline. I guess that was our clue. Beside, I couldn't bear to have you out of the loop, being manipulated like some pawn on my private chessboard, every time we altered history. The same thing happened with Butters. Just brace yourself.”

“For what?” Stan had to ask.

“Remembering things that never happened,” Eclipse warned him. “You're going to have a double set of memories, like double prints from two different rolls of film.” He looked at Kyle again. “I think you should probably go home.” He handed Stan the homework that Keith had worked out, the handwriting a perfect match for Stan's. “Oh, and Stan? We'll call you when we head for Kenny's place tonight. In the meantime, dump out that bottle that's hidden in your sock drawer. After than injection Keith gave you, if you drink it, you'll regret it.”

Stan gaped at him. “Why? What'll happen?”

“You won't die, but you'll wish you could,” Eclipse shrugged.

Stan got up, but knocked the picture of him and Kyle over. He stood it back up. He then ran his hand over the sleeping Kyle's forehead. “You're really him? You can be in two places at once?”

Eclipse held out his hand again. A cloud of pixelation began to form up over his palm, and when it coalesced, Eclipse was holding a photo album. He glanced at the bookshelf, where the same album sat. Unlike the one on the shelf, though, the album in Eclipse's hand had a cracked and worn spine. “This one's fuller. A little,” he explained. “If you're going to be in on this, you need to know some things. You need to know why we're doing what we're doing.”

“Tweek and Craig?” Stan answered, nodding. “You guys already told me that?”

“Look in the album, Stan,” Eclipse repeated.

Stan reluctantly took it. He began flipping through the pages, filled with images of himself, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny. Butters and Tweek were there too, as were pictures taken at school, or pictures taken at some special place they'd all gone together. There were birthday parties, other kids from school, and some just plain silly things.

“Notice anything, the further you go?” Eclipse asked.

“Not much Cartman?” Stan offered.

“And?” Eclipse prompted him.

“Me, or...me not being there,” Stan observed. “I don't remember this page?” He pointed at the page he'd just turned. It was of Stark's Pond, where Kyle, Kenny, Butters, along with Tweek and Craig, even Clyde, had gone fishing.

“The gang started to slowly change,” Eclipse explained, “First, it was Cartman. Then, slowly, it was you. You were there less and less. Kenny started hanging out with Craig, which, naturally, involved Tweek. Clyde came along, when he could.”

“Because he got sick,” Stan realized, turning the page.

A slightly older Clyde was there, although Stan took a moment to recognize him, as Clyde was bald. So were Kyle, Kenny, Token, Craig, and Tweek. They'd shaved their heads in support of Clyde.

The further Stan went in Kyle's photo album, he saw that, eventually, the photos involved just Kenny. Then just Kyle at home. Then a few with Ike. There were a couple of Ike's gang, and then one of Ike and Firkle.

Then the pictures were mainly interesting things, obviously taken by Kyle: a cemetery shot, main street, the empty dock at Stark's Pond.

There weren't any more pictures of the boys.

The last several pages were blank.

Stan put the album down. He flipped back a few pages to stare at a photo of the four of them: the old gang, taken on the first day of seventh grade. Beside it was newer one, and then pictures taken at Tweek's shoppe. They were all sitting around a larger table, happy, smiling. Stan thought it might have been a New Year's party.

But as he stared at it, Eric Cartman faded out of the image.

“What the HELL!?” Stan gasped, pulling back his hand as if the album were a live snake.

“It's just the changes catching up with you. I busted Cartman early, the night I was impersonating Mysterion,” Eclipse explained, “And he went to jail. That means he wasn't there to be in the pictures. Always before, Kenny never involved the police.” Eclipse shrugged, offering his hand again. “Do you trust me, Stan?”

As he stared at this strange incarnation of his best friend, Stan Marsh realized that he did. He always had. Even when Kyle had turned his back on him, or seemed to, when his parents had divorced and he'd been diagnosed with Asperger's, Stan realized that Kyle had only been doing what he'd thought best for his best friend.

_Sometimes, you just have to make a hard left turn._

_Well, if finding out that two of your friends really ARE superheroes who can change time, I guess that's about as hard of a left turn as you can make!_ Stan thought.

“That was when it started,” Stan sighed, looking from that hand to Eclipse's face. “I always trusted you, Kyle. I just didn't _like_ you, sometimes.”

“I know,” Eclipse replied, “And friendships are like that sometimes. I can make it easier for you, you know?”

“I said I loved you,” Stan sniffled.

And Stan took Eclipse's hand.

As he did, that torrent of strange memories, real _and_ altered, seemed to sort themselves out. Things that were, weren't, were, weren't, were, began to align and settle. Yet through all the confusing welter of shifting images, there always seemed to be one constant: Kyle.

Stan thought of **The Dark Tower** by Stephen King: “The man in black fled across the desert, and the Gunslinger followed.

_He's coming, Kyle! The man in black is coming!_

_God, that movie sucked balls!_

“ _Go then, there are other worlds than these.”_

Stan found himself pulling Kyle to himself, hanging on, as if afraid to let go.

Stan Marsh wept.

When he finally looked up, he saw that Eclipse was taller. Tears ran from his green eyes, vanishing into his ridiculous (so Stan thought) red goatee.

“I can't wait to get back now,” this older Eclipse told him in a lower tenor's voice, “And see what's changed. It was pretty lonely, you know.”

“I'm sorry,” Stan offered lamely. “I...I guess the changes will be waiting for you, when you get home?”

“That depends on you, Stan,” Eclipse reminded him, looking over at Kyle. “Don't tell me, tell him,” Eclipse gestured at sleeping Kyle. “Then again, when he wakes up, he'll know.”

Stan gaped at him, pulling back just a little. This Eclipse was so tall.

“Y-you mean that he...knows? Already?” Stan gasped.

Eclipse nodded. “Some of it. Not all of it. There's things that little-me's don't need to know about older-me's, you know! Life wouldn't be much fun, if I was totally omniscient, all the time!” Eclipse smiled. He then held Stan out at arm's length, lifting him up as if twelve year old Stan were no more than a toddler.

Eclipse studied him for an uncomfortably long time.

He then drew Stan close and kissed the boy's forehead, as a parent might embrace a child after a stupid, frightening stunt.

Or a prolonged absence.

“I'll see you soon, Stan!” Eclipse smiled, placing him back on his feet.

He then pixelated away.

Stan's eyebrows went up, and his jaw dropped again. He then sat down at the computer desk, trying to assimilate it all, and saw that the old, worn photo album was still there.

He touched the smoothed cover, almost afraid to open it. Remembering was bad enough, how the gang had changed, evolved – and eventually abandoned Kyle.

“I wanna be in pictures,” Stan said softly to himself, as he opened it.

*

Some time later, the rest of the family arrived home. Sheila knocked on Kyle's door, and when she heard nothing, she peeked in.

Stan had kicked off his shoes, and was sleeping next to Kyle, propped up against the headboard. His right leg hung over the edge of the bed, and on his lap was the open photo album. One hand was on the album cover, and the other rested on Kyle's opposite shouder, securing his head at Stan's chest. A half-empty water glass sat on the night stand, along with Kyle's blood sugar meter and a two used test strips.

“You were right, Sharon,” Sheila whispered to her phone, easing the door shut, “Stanley's right here. It looks like Kyle got sick again, and he stayed here with him. What? No, we'd love to have him! It's been a while since Stanley stayed for dinner.”

*

Stan fully expected dinner to be a strained affair, as he helped Kyle up and got him into his bathrobe and slippers. Kyle still seemed somewhat disoriented, but he was coherent enough to function.

And he knew.

“Eclipse said you'd know,” Stan nodded, his face still feeling hot. “I...I-” Stan fumbled. “Look, I'm sorry, Kyle!” He finally blurted it out. “I had no idea that-”

But Kyle simply gave him a serene smile and sat down at the desk with the photo album.

“Looks like you're getting your wish, Stan?” Kyle offered.

“Whadda'ya mean?” Stan asked.

“You said you wanted to be in pictures,” Kyle shrugged.

_I'll never be a hero, I'm not the ego-kind. I wanna be in pictures, that run inside your mind. I never had desires, to take the world by storm. If you might ever pay the price, to watch while I perform? My only aim in life, is for your love to shine on me. I wanna be in pictures, for only you to see. [©1982, Atlanta]_

Stan looked over Kyle's shoulder, unconsciously laying his hand there. Kyle put his hand over it.

In the photo album of the future, Stan Marsh had appeared alongside his friends. As Kyle turned the page, Stan had to laugh at how he looked with his head shaved.

“I never really believed it, when Kenny said that Clyde was going to get sick again. Hell, I never knew he'd been sick.”

“It was when he was little, before he came to South Park,” Kyle told him. “But watch.”

In the picture, the boys' hair all came back. Including Clyde's.

“Kyle?” Keith called from the doorway, “Sheila says dinner's ready, OK?”

“God, how long's it been?” Stan wondered.

“Two years, seven months, two weeks, and three days,” Kyle rattled it off.

Stan blinked at him.

“Kidding!” Kyle smiled, “How about, just, 'too long'?”

“I can't believe it,” Stan said, as the three boys headed down the stairs. “I looked at those pictures, and I remember how I was. I was even pushing Wendy away. It was like I was someone else? Or like, watching someone on TV?”

“You were one of our targets,” Keith admitted.

“Damn, who's that?” Ike grinned at Stan, as the boys sat down at the dinner table.

“IKE! Language!” Sheila snapped.

“Well, hello, stranger!” Gerald greeted Stan, “I almost didn't recognize you, without the red poofball hat!”

*

As the Broflovski family plus Stan were sitting down to dinner, Kenny McCormick was busy scribbling out scenarios in a notebook. He'd filled several pages, and his hand hurt, but he'd begun to realize one awful truth: there was simply no predicting how things were now going to turn out, compared to what he remembered. Even the secret underground room, where he sat working, shouldn't have existed.

“Much less the house above it,” Kenny reminded himself, still hardly able to believe how radically things had been altered for him.

Always before, it had been just himself.

Now, there was Korx/Keith, Kyle, Butters, and even Stan who knew.

“Never mind that Kyle wasn't Eclipse before,” Kenny told himself, “Or that Korx wasn't here to help that other time.”

Given how things had turned out so very differently, Kenny hadn't thought of that other timeline very often. But as he waited in his secret lair, staring at the Mysterion gear that he couldn't use because of his broken leg, his mind began to wander.

And, as it always did, his mind wandered back to five years into that second aborted future:

Kenny then ran back to Butters, knocking the umbrella out of his hands. Kenny embraced him tightly, and kissed him passionately. Kissing him, as a desperate man who isn't sure if he's coming back or not, would. He held him as if this might be the last time, and no one was realizing it. He didn't care who was looking. He didn't hear the catcalls and such. At that one moment in time, as far from perfect as it was, Kenny held onto that one tiny bit of perfection, hoping against hope that it would still be there when he 'got back'.

 _At some point in our childhood, we all went out to play together for the last time – and none of us realized it,_ Kenny thought, remembering their seemingly endless games of superheroes. _Hell, none of you ever remember, anyway!_

When he finally broke the kiss, panting, and with the taste of Butters' still on his lips, Kenny McCormick turned away. “I love you, Leo. That's never gonna change!”

He'd not taken two steps when Butters screamed his name, and a miasma of light in colors with no names surrounded Kenny.

_Maybe this time, twelve year old me will remember how to do this!_

Oddly enough, Kenny laughed at the thought of Kevin Stoley shitting his pants, if Kevin could have seen what was actually happening.

Kenny was leaving.

Again.

The light dissipated.

And then Kenny McCormick's body collapsed on the sidewalk.

“That future isn't there anymore,” Kenny reminded himself, surprised by the wave of guilt he once again felt about leaving Butters standing there in front of the high school in that ridiculous yellow rain gear.

He could still remember that kiss.

“That's not going to change,” Kenny repeated, as he finally decided to send out one more invitation to the clandestine get-together that night. “But you are!” He told his phone, as the message went out.

*

Later that night, after goodnights were said and lights turned out, boys across town began sneaking out of their windows and making their way to the 'wrong side of the tracks'.

Despite the cold, Kyle and Keith found Kenny's window partly open and slipped inside. Kenny and Butters were already waiting for them. Moments later, and Stan showed up. He was dressed as Toolshed, and not looking very happy about it.

“We're gonna need tools, trust me,” Keith informed him.

“I've been online all evening,” Kenny told them, checking his phone, and then his PC. “There's no sign that our future Fatass has done anything yet.”

“The question is,” Keith offered, “Is whether he _will_ do anything, or not?”

“Given Cartman, this could all just be a head-game,” Kyle put in.

“Well, gosh! What if he, like, tries to kill one of us?” Butters gasped. “I mean, I've known Eric a long time, and he's a nut! I can't imagine what he's like, if he's been to jail, and he's older! Why, he's probably a real fruitcake, by now!”

Kenny gave him a look. _How can anyone not love this goofy kid?_ He wondered.

“Hang on,” Stan cut in, “Does it even matter what Cartman does? I mean, if Kyle is Eclipse, can't he just go back and undo whatever Cartman does?”

“Normally, yes,” Kyle answered, “But there's a problem with that.”

“Ripples,” Keith put in, “See, Stan, every time one of us goes back, it can create tiny ripples in time, that get bigger and bigger, the longer they go here. Every time, we risk doing damage that we don't want to do. Things that we don't want to change, can get changed.”

“And I didn't know that, when I started this,” Kenny agreed, “That's what brought Korx, I mean, Keith, in – all the inadvertent damage I was causing.”

“Dudes! I'm twelve, OK?” Stan sighed, “So what do you need me for?”

“Plenty,” Keith pointed at Timmy's spare wheelchair. He clapped his hands twice, and the lights went off. There was a faint blue glow under the chair. He clapped again.

“That blue crystal thing!” Stan snapped his fingers.

“We need you to remove it, so I can put it in my discriminator,” Keith informed him.

Stan's jaw dropped.

“WHAT?! You want me to work on a time machine?” Stan gasped.

“You're the engineer,” Kyle shrugged, grinning. “If one of us tries to take that thing off of the wheelchair, we could cause a temporal explosion.”

“Well, who put it there to start with?” Stan squeaked.

“Me,” Keith confessed, “That time you all wanted to go back to third grade.”

“You were here, then?” Stan wondered.

Keith nodded. “I've been around. I had to clean up the damage that Timmy did, when he went ripping through history, remember? I had a feeling that I was going to need that cobalt crystal later!”

“That rare element you told me about?” Stan asked.

“That's the one,” Kyle agreed, as Kenny checked his phone again.

“Where the fuck is he?” Kenny growled. “Never mind, go on?”

“I need that crystal for my discriminator,” Keith explained. “With older Cartman loose here, and trapped here, I've got to have protection.” He snorted. “Shit! I wish they'd never hired him as an agent!”

“Not one of your better calls, huh?” Kyle grinned. “We could have told you that!”

“I was just about to ask, when you trashed my good discriminator,” Keith smirked at him.

“This still doesn't make sense to me,” Stan persisted, “So what if this older Cartman does some shit? And these time ripples? They're not that bad, are they?”

Kenny glared at him, which took Stan aback. “The first time I leaped back here, Teddy Hastings died,” Kenny told Stan. “One of Ike's and Karen's friends. When things changed again, and Teddy was restored, Firkle ended up dead. It seems that every time there's a major shift, someone ends up dead.”

Stan's face paled. “Chef!” He gasped, as the two distinct memories of Chef's death and Chef's saving both came back to him.

“You're welcome,” Keith smiled.

“Hang on? So why doesn't someone else end up dead, if Keith changes things?” Butters asked.

“Because I'm better at this thing than Kenny is,” Keith smiled, “I know which variables to factor in.”

“Show off,” Kenny growled, “It's not like they gave me a fucking manual! Let's shove a bolt of lightning up your ass, and see how well you do!”

“Lightning hit you in the ass?” Stan wondered, and Kenny palmed his face.

“Can we just pull that cobalt crystal for Keith, so we can go to bed?” Kyle asked, as he and Butters carefully turned the wheelchair over for Stan to examine.

“I remember tuning this thing up before, but I never noticed this!” Stan gasped, “It's like this crystal assembly connects to everything! This might be a power source,” Stan began to talk to himself, asking now and then for some tool as he began to disassemble to the ordinary parts of the wheelchair.

“Anybody hear how Kevin's doing?” Kyle asked.

“They're holding him overnight for observation, Francis said,” Kenny pointed to the PC, scrolling back up the Twitter page. “Something about unusual activity in his corpus-something or other?”

“Corpus callosum,” Keith snapped his fingers. “It connects the two hemispheres of the brain. Increased activity there might be a sign of some tampering?”

“Or the fact that Kevin is just really smart,” Kyle raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well, I wish he was here, if he's the one that's gonna invent this thing,” Stan complained, as he carefully handed a circuit board to Butters. Butters looked at it like it might bite him, or something, and gently laid it on the floor in order with the parts that Stan had already taken out. “I suppose we could all dress up like the Fighters of Zaron, and go break him outta the hospital?”

They all had a laugh at that.

“It's best to not involve Kevin,” Keith reminded them. “He could very well pull a 'Meet the Robinsons' thing, and swear never to invent this!” He held up his wrist, where we wore the dead discriminator. “No telling what that might do!”

“Probably reset the timeline to the point that none of this happens, and Tweek still dies in the crash,” Kenny mused, “And I do NOT want to get hit by lightning again!”

“So is it just me going nuts, or have you been hanging out with Craig more?” Stan asked, as something sizzled. Stan yelped, pulling his hand back. “I think I just fried the reverse motor! No, wait, this wire goes to...this thing has taillights?” Stan exclaimed.

“You're doing fine, Stan,” Kyle encouraged him.

“Thanks! Why don't you ask the Kyle an hour from now, if I blow us all to Kingdom Come?” Stan snorted.

“I could, but that might-” Kyle froze. He then turned to look at Kenny in surprise.

An alarm went off.

“That'd be the intruder alert I set up, when I built this pit,” Stan commented.

“About fucking time!” Kenny snapped, as he picked up his phone. He tapped it a few times. “Go over to the closet, go in, and find the red button. Push it!” He told the phone. “When you see the pole, grab it and slide down!”

“Who's here?” Butters asked.

“You didn't?” Kyle gasped, as they all turned at the sound of a soft 'thump'.

Someone had landed on the cushion below the firepole that led from Kenny's room to the secret lair.

“He already knows I'm Mysterion, he's filled in for me,” Kenny shrugged, as the boy in the yellow poofball hat stepped out of the firepole chute.

“Who is it?” Stan asked, without looking up. He was concentrating on a bundle of wiring, having carefully clipped a gray one, a brown one, and a black one. The amount of blue light coming from the crystal dimmed some.

“This better be good, Dude!” Craig Tucker said, staring around the secret room. “Damn, you got your own Bat Cave?!”

“Figured Stan might need help putting the chair back together,” Kenny offered.

“Ken-nn _y_?” Kyle said firmly.

“This is so fuckin' cool!” Craig gasped, as he noticed what Stan was doing. “Hey, that blue light looks just like the meteor rock that Tweek gave me!”

“It's the same element, Craig,” Keith agreed, also giving Kenny a look. He then pulled out his first aid kit from his backpack. “You know we're all getting a good dose of chronoton radiation, and Craig's probably already soaked in it?”

“Radiation!?” Craig exclaimed, “From my meteor rock?”

“Chronoton radiation won't kill you,” Keith told them, “It just makes you a bit temporally unstable.”

“Can it cause migraines?” Craig asked, which made them all look sharply at him. “What?” Craig held out his hands. “I was showing my meteor rock to Kevin, when he came over to compare models with Tweek.

“Cause before the effect?” Kyle asked Keith, his eyes wide.

“More than likely!” Keith snapped his fingers. “If Future-Kevin was already exposed to high levels of chronoton radiation, then it's possible that our Kevin could have felt the effects, if he got a new dose of it! It might have made him have a migraine!”

“Well what about me and Tweek, you futuristic butt-fucker?!” Craig snapped at him. Then his expression went even plainer. “Bad choice of insults. Sorry!”

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!” Stan laughed, which actually made Craig blush. It was a notable event.

Kyle's face had gone hard, though. “Kenny, somehow I don't think you invited Craig here to help Stan with the wheelchair?”

“Look, we need all the help we can get, and since Craig doesn't believe me about-” Kenny began.

“Is this about my fucking car again?!” Craig cut him off, “Because I've just about had it with this psychic-Kenny bullshit! In case you haven't all noticed, Tweek's got a bad heart, and just like you pulled that shit at the shoppe, Kyle, you-” Craig then paused, his finger pointed at Kyle. “This has something to do with what happened in the shower, doesn't it? When my hand went through you? It's just like that time at the shoppe, when I was going to take Tweek up to-”

Craig stopped again.

His face went pale.

“Say it?” Keith prompted him, “When you were going to take Tweek up to Stark's Pond in Red Racer? Problem is, you're twelve, Craig. Thirteen in a couple of weeks. Your car is in pieces being restored, and you can't drive yet. What you just remembered doesn't happen for another four years or so.”

Craig's knees buckled, and Butters had just enough time to jump and steady him, easing him down to the floor.

“I...I remember picking Tweek up, after I got Red Racer started for the very first time?” Craig fumbled. “How can I remember something that hasn't happened yet?”

“You were fourteen, I was there,” Kenny offered. “Your dad went with you, and held Tweek on his lap on the way back to your house.”

Craig began to tremble.

“Well, you didn't dream it,” Kyle told him, heading that one off. He turned to Keith. “Tweek and Craig have been absorbing chronoton radiation since Christmas, haven't they? You knew this would happen?”

Keith nodded.

“Why?” Kenny asked sharply.

“Because Craig didn't believe you,” Keith told Kenny plainly. “I guess you could call this 'The Eclipse Effect'?”

“What the fuck is an eclipse effect?” Craig asked, as Butters fetched him a water from the small fridge.

“Craig, are you sane enough to gimme a hand with this reduction gear?” Stan asked.

“I'm remembering the future?” Craig gasped. “How can that happen?”

“The radiation,” Kyle repeated, nodding, as he felt a chill. “But that's nothing, compared to what I'm capable-”

“You sure you want that secret out?” Keith interrupted him.

“And does Cartman know?” Kenny added.

“I'm pretty sure that an older me let him know, bluntly,” Kyle nodded. “That might be the only thing keeping him in check.”

“An older you?” Craig asked, “What the hell kinda drugs are you guys doing down here? And no offense, Kenny, but how can you afford a lair like this?”

“Stan built it,” Kenny waved that one off.

“What's this got to do with Cartman?” Craig asked. “Is that son of a bitch getting off on a technicality, or something? Because if he does, I'll kick his ass!”

“Craig,” Kyle offered.

“And YOU!” Craig exclaimed, seeming at a loss for words just then.

“Show him,” Kenny decided.

Keith and Kyle exchanged a long look.

“Show him, and do something with him before he remembers too much of his future!” Kenny added.

Kyle nodded. He then closed his eyes, concentrating. As he stood up, his clothing pixelated away to be replace by the Eclipse costume.

Craig promptly took the Lord's name in vain as he dropped his water and fell over backwards in shock.

“You and Tweek are in serious danger, Craig,” Eclipse told him, “There's a man from the future here, just like Korx – Keith – and he's got it in for you guys. We're here to stop him!”

“Close enough,” Kenny sighed.

“Y-y-you!” Craig inhaled the word sharply, shaking his head in disbelief.

“It's OK, Craig, I'm still Kyle. I'm still your friend.” Eclipse lowered his hood. “See?”

“It's...it's...,” Craig gasped, looking at Keith. “It's a future thing! A hologram, right?”

“No, Craig, Kyle's a real live metahuman,” Keith explained. “You believe that Bradley is, right?”

“No, Bradley's an alien,” Craig corrected him. Then he made a funny face. “Oh!” His face went back to the usual plain expression. “I guess that's possible, then?”

“Reduction gear?” Stan repeated. “And what about me and this radiation?”

Keith got up and went to inject Stan with the hypo-spray again.

“FUCK! Seriously, Dude? _Again_?” Stan protested, as Craig joined him.

“So what are we doing?” Craig asked, as if working on something seemed to distract him. He did, however, keep sneaking glances at Kyle.

“We need to pull this reduction gear, and get this futuristic mumbo-jumbo out of the axle assembly, so I can find the main power converter and disconnect it,” Stan explained, “Then we can pull the blue crystal for Keith.”

“What for?” Craig asked, as they got down to work.

“To power his temporal phase discriminator,” Kenny supplied, looking a bit peeved. “You gonna give Craig a shot?”

“Nope, figure he can use a few chronotons,” Keith shrugged. “Maybe he'll remember enough of the future now, so that he'll believe us!”

“Got it!” Stan exclaimed, as the reduction gear came out and Craig pulled the axle.

“I watch _**Star Trek**_ , you know,” Craig then told them, “Isn't this going to mess up time, somehow? With all this radiation, and Keith being from the future already?”

“You have NO idea,” Kenny sighed, plunking his head on the table.

“I think we got it,” Stan then said, “Craig, pull on that connector there. OK, now slide that circuit board off the mount. Good! Ta-da!” Stan then cried, holding up the glowing blue crystal.

“Timmy's gonna be pissed,” Craig mused, “Now let's see if we can put it back together!”

Keith took the crystal. He popped the back off of his 'watch', and inserted the cobalt. Once he closed it, the discriminator began to glow blue.

“Can't they get a fix on you now?” Kyle asked.

“Maybe, maybe not. After all, Craig has the accelerator's power core,” Keith said, which got Craig's attention at once.

“The power core?!” Craig gasped. “As in, the core to the time machine that brought you here?”

“Oops,” Keith shrugged, “Spoilers!”

“Are you trying to get me killed by a bunch of mad Futurists?!” Craig exclaimed.

“No, just one, really,” Kyle shrugged.

“We're trying to keep you _from_ getting killed,” Kenny put in, as Butters just sat, happily handing them the tools and parts they asked for.

“Well, uhm, don't look at me! I'm just along for the ride!” Butters smiled.

“That's how you knew that stuff, isn't it?” Craig then asked Kenny. “That stuff about Clyde, and Timmy? You know the future, because of this radiation?”

“I _used_ to know the future,” Kenny corrected him, “Because I leaped back from it.”

“Whaaaaat?” Craig made a silly face.

The rest of them palmed their own faces.

“He's going to remember it soon enough,” Kenny defended himself, “If you don't inject him, Keith.” He turned back to Craig. “Five years from now, Craig, I'll commit suicide at the school garage, where the wreck of your car is being restored. There's just one problem – seeing as how I'm an Immortal, that sets off a temporal explosion that threw me back here.”

“I thought lightning hit you in the ass?” Stan reminded him. Kenny ignored him.

“That's where I came in, since Kenny really mucked up the Timeline,” Keith supplied.

“No?” Craig said flatly, “No, no, no, no, no!” He started to laugh.

And he kept laughing. It was quite disturbing.

“I don't remember Craig laughing like that, and I don't think I like it, Fellas?” Butters offered.

“Kyle, you better do your thing,” Keith suggested. “I don't think Craig's brain is wired for four dimensional thinking!”

“Craig,” Kyle sighed, “Look at me!”

Craig did that, still snickering. “You're all nuts!”

Kyle moved fast, his eyes flashing. The first flash stopped Craig cold, then Kyle placed his hand, fingers spread, on Craig's face.

“What the hell? You're gonna do a Vulcan mind meld?” Stan wondered.

“Craig,” Kyle repeated, as bits and pieces of him began to phase in and out.

So did bits and pieces of Craig.

Craig's eyes went wide.

“Don't remember too much,” Kyle suggested. “It's OK, Craig. Now, I _do_ need you to remember this, OK? Don't you ever drive your car out on 285. Got that?”

“OK,” Craig smiled, as he relaxed under Kyle's grip. “But I can't drive it yet. And Tweek can't help me fix her up anymore.”

“Easy there, Eclipse,” Kenny offered.

“Tweek's gonna be fine, Craig,” Eclipse told him, planting the suggestions in his mind. He probed gently, carefully.

“Tweek,” Craig said, almost a whisper.

“And Craig? About all this time stuff? You had some dreams, OK?”

“You guys are silly!” Craig grinned, “Korx is from the future! Maybe now he can go home?”

“Maybe he can! Why don't you go help Stan, so Timmy won't be mad at us, Craig? It's getting late, and we have to go to school tomorrow,” Eclipse told him.

“OK,” Craig agreed, as Eclipse released him. Craig and Stan got back to work, as Kyle's regular clothing reappeared in place of the costume.

“He didn't need to know all that,” Kyle told them.

“Does he know about the wreck?” Butters whispered.

“No,” Kyle assured them.

“It might help if he _did,_ don't you think?” Kenny persisted. “That was kinda my point, you know! Like, why I called him here?”

“I think we just found out the hard way that his mind can't take it,” Kyle observed, “It was pretty messy in there!” Kyle shuddered.

“Could be too risky,” Keith nodded. “Why don't we finish this tomorrow? It's getting close to midnight, you know.”

“Good idea,” Kyle yawned, as they all decided to call it a night.

“Wow, that ran really late?” Craig observed, as the boys, sans Kenny, stepped out into the cold night. “If it wasn't for Timmy, I'd have told you guys to forget it! Timmy might need the spare, though. Man, I bet I'm in deep shit for being out so late!” Craig observed, seemingly oblivious to what he'd just been told.

*

From behind the _**Sodosopa**_ sign, a man in black stowed his listening gear in his pack. He then pulled a gun from his waistband.

“I knew you were in there, assholes!” He muttered, taking aim.

“And I knew you were up here!” Eclipse said coldly, as he kicked the man in the face, sending him sprawling out into the street. He then picked up the gun, which pixelated away into nothing in his hand. “I can do this for all eternity, Fatass!” He added in that tenor voice. “But on second thought,” Eclipse reconsidered it, as he grabbed Cartman by the collar and jerked him up to face him. “Anyone who'd attempt to shoot a child in cold blood shouldn't be running around loose!”

“Fuck you!” Cartman mumbled, spitting blood, as the both of them then pixelated away.

On the street below, as the boys crossed the tracks, Kyle Broflovski looked back over his shoulder.

The boys walked on, escorting Stan home.

“So, Craig doesn't know?” Stan asked, and Kyle shook his head. “Are you gonna do that to me, too?”

“No, Stan,” Kyle replied, “I need you in this.”

“See you at the bus stop tomorrow?” Stan asked.

“Like always,” Kyle replied, pulling him into a hug.

As Stan went inside his house, and Kyle and Keith turned to go, Keith asked, “So, Stan's gonna be in the pictures?”

“Yeah,” Kyle smiled, “And so are you!”

 


	28. Four in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this chapter on and off, so apologies if it seems fragmented!  
> After returning home from Kenny's house and disassembling Timmy's spare wheelchair to recover the cobalt crystal, the boys find that they can't sleep. Around four in the morning, things start to get strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sort of a filler, and not actually essential to the plot. It's an update, at least!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**28**

**Four in the Morning**

*****

“ **Oh, how the years have flown by, oh, how I realize...just how much of me is gone.” - ©Oak Ridge Boys, 'Ozark Mountain Jubilee', 1984.**

All through that cold January night in South Park, Kenny McCormick was not the only boy for whom sleep would not come.

It wasn't that he was uncomfortable, even though he was. It wasn't that his casted leg itched, even though it did. It wasn't that his ribs ached, even though they did. And it wasn't that he was alone in his bed, even though he was.

As he lay awake in his new bed, staring at the ceiling, Kenny's mind raced. Memories of things past, _almost_ present, and uncertain futures swirled and overlapped. Were it not for his mind being so accustomed to temporal resets, always before brought on by his many deaths, Kenny was fairly certain that he would be losing his mind.

_As if knowing that the Universe itself seemed tireless in Its efforts to get rid of such an Abomination as Kenny McCormick..._

He also pondered the fact that, so far, he'd stayed alive ever since his 'leap' into his younger self. This thought was the one that frightened him the most, as Kenny had no idea what might happen, were he to die _this_ time.

“You were alone the last two times,” Kenny reminded himself, “There was no Eclipse, and no Korx. And it's not like you were driving the minivan, or Red Racer.” Kenny paused to yawn. “And it's not like _you_ killed Tweek.”

Almost a year, nearly five years again, and now here he was – twelve years old _again_ – facing the same pain all over _again_.

“But you're _not_ alone this time,” The Other reminded him, but sounding somewhat different, Kenny noticed.

“Schizophrenia,” Kenny muttered.

“Hardly,” The Other scoffed, the longing in that voice now evident.

“Well, unless you can magically heal a broken leg, you're stuck here in bed, just like me,” Kenny told him, thinking about his unused Mysterion costumes below the floor.

“I _am_ you, you idiot!” The Other snorted. “You're bothered?” He added.

“As if _you_ wouldn't notice,” Kenny answered, deciding that he'd risk being late to school. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his pain meds and a bottled water, even though he figured that a plain old ibuprofen would have quieted his ribs. He split the pill and downed the half, along with half of a mild tranquilizer.

“I suppose a third trip through puberty would do that to us?” The Other seemed to laugh. “It's perfectly legal, you know,” he insinuated.

“Butters is TWELVE!” Kenny almost shouted, biting back the response. The last thing he needed was for his brother, Kevin, to wake up and find him talking to himself.

“So are _you_ ,” The Other reminded him. “And to think, we used to be arch-enemies, Chaos and I?”

“What have I done to him _this_ time?” Kenny sighed, “What _will_ I do to him this time?”

“Nothing yet, and nothing that he wouldn't _want_ you to do,” The Other told him plainly. “The love you had – have – for him didn't get left behind in those other aborted futures. It's still there, yes, but it's also _here_ , now, waiting.”

Kenny thought about the Butters Stotch that he'd known before. The boy he'd spent the last five years with. He remembered the glasses that he'd continually encouraged Butters to wear. He remembered how excited Butters had been, when the confirmation for his eye surgery had come through.

What he didn't remember was how Butters might have grieved when Kenny had died that last time, or if Butters even knew that his damaged left eye had been repaired with parts from Kenny's.

But then again, hadn't that future been aborted as well, when Kenny had reincarnated?

“But if I don't die, whose eye parts will he get this time?” Kenny had to wonder, remembering the day he'd thrown that stupid shuriken at Butters. He let his mind drift, waiting for the drugs to kick in. He wondered if he might be able to undo that damage? “Just leap back, move my hand a bit...”

“And risk blowing everything again?” The Other asked. “Think about how that day changed all the lives it touched.”

“I don't wanna think about it,” Kenny retorted, reaching over to turn the radio on.

_If you were handed seven wishes, would you turn your back for more? Would you hold on tight to what you had..._

Finally, around four in the morning, Kenny drifted off.

_It's too fucking cold out to patrol, anyway!_

And he slept.

*

A few blocks over, Butters Stotch lay awake in his bed. He was watching his hamsters in the dim glow of the nightlight, remembering when the others had been his Minions. He remembered Lou-Lou. He remembered his father, and his grandmother. He thought about Eric Cartman as well, finding that he didn't really care about him.

“You can sit in jail 'til hell freezes over!” Butters mumbled.

As he closed his good eye, the room dissolved into a fuzzy, dim orange glow. He thought about the accident that had nearly blinded him in his left eye.

And he thought about the boy who was responsible for all of it.

He also remembered things differently.

Down the hallway, the Strongly Principled Couple (as the boys referred to them) slept in the guest room. In the room adjacent to Butters' room, Aaron Hagen slept. Butters wondered about the odd turn of events that had led to him becoming a foster child, and foster brother to Aaron. He'd fantasized about it before, of course: Dreamed of having parents that were, for lack of a better word, normal. He'd just never imagined, when they'd taken him out to lunch that first time, that PC Principal and Strong Woman would become those parents.

Butters wondered when his mother would get to come home.

He didn't wonder when his father would get to come home.

“That ain't happenin',” Butters sniffed, his mind conjuring up images of the Superheroes taking out his father, just as they'd taken out his grandmother. “Nasty old skank,” Butters told himself, grinning. “The other prison inmates will do that for us, though, Dad.”

Then again, Butters realized, the Heroes hadn't taken out his father. Only one – Mysterion – had done that with a single phone call.

_Still, how did he know?_

“If you'd listened to me to begin with, they'd not have had to have stepped in,” The Other told him.

“Well, yeah, but uhm, _you_ wanted to kill her!” Butters told him.

Told himself.

“And just what do you _think_ Mysterion and them did?”

“Good point,” Butters sighed, pulling his blankets up. He sighed again. Strong Woman had this way of tucking him in, and he wished he hadn't sneaked out to go to Kenny's house. It wouldn't have bothered him, he knew, if he'd done that to his parents. But doing it to PC and SW, as the boys were allowed to call them, felt wrong.

Butters' thoughts then turned back to Kenny.

He remembered Hawaii as he looked at his alarm clock. It was near three, and he wasn't sleepy at all. If it hadn't been for Kenny, he recalled, he'd have never made it to Hawaii and his coming of age ceremony.

“I guess that was when I sorta started to realize it,” Butters mumbled, sorting through his memories of Kenny, and wondering which ones were still valid. “I remember I cared about him, though. I still do.”

“Butters, are you awake?” A tiny voice then whispered, as a thin strip of light shown at the doorway.

 _You know that kid, Aaron Hagen?_  
Yeah, the first-grader?  
Yeah, him! His dad just killed his mom!  
So what happened to Aaron?  
I heard they shipped him off to some foster home in North Park.  
At least it wasn't Greeley!  
God only knows what'll happen to him now.  
Foster care fuckin' sucks!

Butters opened his eyes, just able to make out the shape of the younger boy in the doorway. His foster brother. The boy that he remembered had gone away, and none of them had ever seen again. Butters remembered how Ike, Teddy, and the others had lamented the loss of their friend.

And yet, here he was: Aaron living in Butters' house with their foster parents, and obviously having had another nightmare.

“It's OK, Aaron,” Butters whispered, pulling back his blankets as the smaller boy snuggled up with him, clutching his teddy bear. Butters pulled the blankets up around them to ward off the cold night.

Of all of his clashing memories, the things that were, weren't, and were again, Butters wondered that Aaron was still an orphan. Of all the people who'd died and come back, died again, some to come back yet again, Aaron's mom _hadn't_ been one of them.

“It's OK, little brother,” Butters repeated, hugging him closer, and laying awake as Aaron cried himself back to sleep.

Near four in the morning, Butters finally drifted off. In his dreams, Chaos and Mysterion jumped rooftops, keeping an eye on South Park by the light of an impossibly large full moon.

*

In the bunk bed underneath of him, Keith Cook, formerly Korx the Time Refugee, could tell that Kyle Broflovski was still awake. Keith himself had lain there, counting the turns and sighs, and listening to the breathing that was anything but regular. He figured that Kyle would think that he was asleep, as his breathing was slow, and he hadn't moved.

Still, he said nothing at all.

He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. He'd been trained for stealth, after all.

But this wasn't just another mission.

This time, the child was on the run, and likely stranded.

“This is all wrong,” he told himself, taking comfort in the feel of his cotton pyjamas and the flannel sheets. He knew that his friends thought it silly, but they just didn't understand. They didn't know what it was like, living in a miserably crowded world where simple pleasures like a donut or a soft bed were luxuries.

He thought about his future first aid kit again, and the hypospray. To Stan and Kyle and the others, it must have seemed like magic, Keith knew. Still, the kit wouldn't last forever, and he had to conserve what he had left. Like his discriminator's ability to jump time only once more, he only had one more batch of select items in the kit. Yes, he would have to budget that.

He glanced at the faint blue glow coming through the blankets.

He knew that he had to conserve that, too. After all, the cobalt crystal was small, and without its iridium companions (and a few other rare elements), it could only give him one more leap.

“Well, I sure as hell ain't goin' home!” Keith told himself silently, stifling a yawn. He didn't want to fall asleep, but he couldn't help but think about Eric Cartman.

Both of them.

ALL of them: Present Cartman, Future Cartman (who was, wasn't, was), and the Future Cartman that was one of their agents.

“He's gone,” Kyle then said softly, as if he knew what Keith were thinking of. “And not just him. ALL of him. _Them_.”

Chances were, Keith knew, that Eclipse very well knew.

“Who is?” Keith asked, mumbling.

“You weren't asleep,” Kyle accused him, “But neither was I. And I'm not in your head again.”

“You sure sound like you are,” Keith countered.

“Simple logic,” Kyle explained, “Eclipse – an older one – grabbed our older Cartman tonight, just outside of Kenny's house. Cartman tried to assassinate one, maybe even all, of us. Eclipse dealt with him.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Kyle went on, “I guess I... _he_ took him off to some future point, where Cartman will be tried and prosecuted for crimes he _will_ commit. Murder-One, for starters.” Kyle paused. “He wanted to _kill_ us, just a few hours ago.” Kyle sighed. “I remember the time he said he was going to murder me with a wiffleball bat, and dump my body in Stark's Pond. He arranged for the Tennormans to be killed, and Sarah Jessica Parker, too. He bullied Cory Durant into suicide after he crapped his pants at school, and the list probably goes on. God only knows what he's done that we _don't_ about.”

Keith said nothing at all.

“So, any ideas on what you might use your last leap for?” Kyle asked.

“No,” Keith replied, “Things are pretty good, right here, right now. Don't you think so, Kyle?”

“Yeah,” Kyle yawned.

“School's gonna suck. It's almost four, you know.”

“I know,” Kyle agreed.

“Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“How's come you let me have the crystal from Timmy's wheelchair?” Keith had to ask, “After what you did on New Year's?”

“You mean trapping you here, when I crushed your discriminator?”

“Yeah.”

There was a very pregnant pause.

“Because Eclipse trusts you. He loves you, you know.”

Keith wasn't sure what to say.

“Uhm, Kyle, _you're_ Eclipse, remember?”

“Yeah,” Kyle replied.

A sudden wave of dizziness, as if the top bunk bed had just fallen out from under him, swept over Keith. He found himself in the lower bunk with Kyle.

“What the hell?” The bald child gasped, “How did you do that, Kyle?”

“You were going to end up down here in about a half an hour anyway, I just saved you the trip,” Kyle whispered in Keith's ear.

“I didn't know you could translocate people!” Keith gasped.

“Neither did I, it just sorta happened,” Kyle admitted. “Sorry, I should have asked.”

“Would have ruined the surprise,” Keith snickered, “And I don't get surprised much. But Kyle, I'm an agender Drone, remember? I mean, I'm just _acting_ like a boy, for now. It's not like I'm equipped for se-”

“I know,” Kyle repeated, “Neither am I, or so Kenny says. I was just thinking about you telling me about things like warm clothes, soft beds, coffee and donuts, and all that stuff.”

“Did I tell you about that yet?” Keith asked, snuggling in closer. After all, it was night, and the heat was down. Kyle's pillow was soft and warm, and smelled of fabric softener. As he inhaled, Keith noticed that Kyle smelled of soap and mint. What was that shampoo? Jujubes? _No, that's candy...it starts with a 'j'._

“I'm not sure,” Kyle whispered, his lips brushing Keith's ear. “So how come you chose a boy's name?”

“I dunno, thought it would be easier. You all thought I was a boy, the first time I was here.”

“You ever get homesick?” Kyle had to ask.

“I miss Uncle sometimes,” Keith sighed. “Sometimes, I wish he could come and get me.”

“He helped you, didn't he?”

“Yeah.”

And although it was dark in the bedroom, but for the nightlight, Keith hid his face in Kyle's shoulder.

“Am I g-gonna get to stay here, Kyle? With you?” Keith finally asked, thinking that Kyle had gone to sleep, when he didn't answer.

“Don't you wanna be surprised?” Kyle finally replied.

“No.”

Someone else sighed. Both of them jumped.

“Sorry!” A figure in black said from the shadows, “It's just that, well, you know? How often do you get to really remember that first kiss?”

“No one's kissing anyone!” Kyle protested. “It's cold out! You know Mom turns the heat down at night!”

“Oh, _spoilers!_ ” Eclipse winced, “Sorry! Well, you two _have_ to now, otherwise, the Timeline might blow up!”

They both just stared at him.

“So, is it gay if you're a boy, and I'm agender?” Keith asked.

Kyle thought about it, but not for too long. He didn't even stop to consider that he'd never really kissed anyone before.

Not seriously, at least.

“Oh, this just feels...wrong, somehow?” Eclipse realized, as he pixelated out of their existence.

 _You have no idea how to really KISS someone,_ Kyle realized, so he used that one second's hesitation to think of someone he'd seen do it.

“I can't believe you just did that. Or that HE just did that?” Keith jerked a thumb at where Eclipse had vanished.

“Me either,” Kyle shrugged, as he kissed Keith.

From the reaction, Kyle assumed that he'd done it right.

*

At #2001, Stan Marsh lay awake in his bed. The radio was on, low volume, but he wasn't really listening to it. His head was spinning with all the revelations, not to mention how his arm was hurting. “They don't fuckin' hurt in _**Star Trek**_ ,” Stan complained, thinking about Keith's future hypospray device. “Chronoton particles? Really? Time travel?”

Stan lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to process it all.

“Tweek and Craig?”

He had the distinct feeling that he'd done that before.

What he hadn't done before was disassembled a time machine. At least, he didn't think he had. He also thought he'd tried to steal one of Cartman's kidneys once, too, but apparently, that had never happened.

There were things that Stan was sure had happened, though: a monstrous Barbara Streisand had stomped Pip, and killed him. Terrance Mephesto had died in the same attack. Trent Boyette had gone off to juvie – twice. Chef had died, falling off a cliff at the Super Adventure Club's lodge.

And yet, they were alive and well now.

And try as he might, he still didn't remember the picture on Kyle's night stand.

Stan turned over. On his own night stand, the light coming in through the window flared on the glass of the picture of him and Wendy Testaburger. As Stan squinted at it in the dim light, the image changed to one of a baseball team. Two boys faded out of it, then came back.

_And it's a grounder to center, the pitcher misses it, but the shortstop throws to first, and … he's out! Looks like #7 may have been a sacrifice, but #5 has scored!_

“Tweek is #7, we've not even played that game yet,” Stan recalled, wondering if Keith's shot had indeed cleared him of those chronoton particles. “And Kenny was #13. Craig was #5.”

“Stan, can I borrow your torque wrench?” Craig was asking, as Stan yawned, realizing that he didn't have a torque wrench. His dad, Randy, did...

“Blue conversion headlights,” Stan whispered to himself, yawning. He rolled over, remembering how Keith had said that (obviously) Craig's brain wasn't wired for alternate temporal memories, or some shit like that. “I bet Kevin could explain this.”

Why weren't they talking about this to Kevin, anyway, Stan wondered, as he yawned again. He snuggled down deeper into his bed and sighed, listening to the radio. It was tuned to **KROC** , “The Croc”, which used a crocodile for a mascot. They played country and rock, hence the name “Crock”.

_If I can't be a favorite son, then I'll be the prodigal one, 'cause I been gone too long. Oh how the years have flown by, oh how I realize, how much of me is gone..._

And Stan began to realize that the part of him that he felt was gone was Kyle. How long had it been, Kyle had said? “Two years, seven months, two weeks, and three days,” Kyle had rattled it off.

“Sounds about right, we were ten when we...when I-” Stan sniffled, thinking about the day he'd first met Kyle at day care. He wondered that he could remember that far back, but still, he wondered how many of those memories was still valid.

He glanced at the picture again, then opened the drawer. He slid the picture in, and closed the drawer, feeling nauseous. His eyes then moved to his chest of drawers, where the top one held his socks, underwear, and a few other things.

One of them was a bottle of Jameson whiskey.

On the radio, the song changed: _I put your picture away, sat down and cried today..._

“You won't die, but you'll wish you could,” Eclipse had told him, warning him what would happen if he ever drank again.

_You froze to death, drunk, in the gardener's shed at the cemetery._

Stan got up and retrieved the bottle. He then opened his window, and slung the bottle as hard as he could.

He heard it shatter on the street.

“Damn, Kyle,” Stan whispered to himself, wondering at the whole idea of Kyle actually being a real metahuman. He also wondered that he wasn't that shocked. “It's fucking South Park,” Stan told himself, as he closed the window and got back in bed, shivering.

It was a cold night.

“Kyle, I love you!”

Stan froze at the voice in his own head, the voice that seemed so strange.

“You're a piece'a shit, though!”

He remembered Kyle turning to walk away.

He remembered Kyle kissing him.

“ _Wh-what was that for?” Stan finally managed._

“ _I...I'm sorry,” Kyle blushed, “I just...I dunno. It's just that everything's so fucked up lately?” Kyle sighed yet again, and gasped when Stan kissed him back._

“ _Did it do anything for you?” Stan asked, looking genuinely curious_.

“He said it was like kissing your brother,” Stan sighed again. “I guess that's what it feels like, to have a brother?” He touched his cheek.

“Then where the hell have you been for the last two years?” Someone asked Stan.

Stan promptly took the Lord's name in vain, sitting bolt upright in bed and nearly wetting it!

“Who the fuck are you?!” Stan gasped, his hand slipping between the mattress and headboard for the .38 Special he kept hidden there since the Ads had tried to take over the world. “I'm armed!” Stan blinked. “Geeze, I hope it's not Satan again!”

“Would you believe me if I told you?” The Other asked in reply.

“Try me!” Stan retorted.

“I'm _you_ , Toolshed,” The Other replied, “And that's a good question. Where _have_ we been for the last two years?”

“It...it's DT's,” Stan told himself, “Alcohol withdrawal! And Korx! Keith, I mean! All this time travel stuff, Goobacks, and all that! Those shots he gave me!”

“I'm not a Gooback,” The Other repeated, “And to answer your question, now that you know what's going on with all the changes to the timeline, you're probably going to _think_ you're losing your mind, quite a bit.”

“It's gotta be Asperger's, I'm too young for Alzheimer's!” Stan fretted, which didn't help at all, considering that a great deal of what he remembered wasn't what had happened at all.

Not anymore.

“You're not taking this well,” The Other told him. “But don't worry, you're not the only one with an invisible friend, let's say,” The Other seemed to snicker.

“What the fuck? Who else has to listen to you?” Stan gasped.

“Kyle, Kenny, and Butters, for starters,” The Other answered, “But their own versions. I'm not in Kenny's head, Mysterion is. You see? Think of me as that part of you that no one else sees; that part of you that remembers _everything_.”

“Even the shit that got changed?” Stan asked.

“Especially the shit that got changed! Let's just say that I remember when Trent Boyette was our biggest fear in the world, him getting paroled, and coming to get us,” The Other commented offhandedly. “He was a mean kid, you know. Then there was Pip getting squashed by Mecha-Streisand, and Terrance Mephesto getting crushed. Remember when the snowman came to life and tried to eat us all? Back when you had that awful magenta coat?”

“I...I remember that,” Stan gasped, “But...but I d-don't? Not really?”

“You remember _**Kyle**_ , _don't_ you?” The Other asked harshly.

Stan gasped again, as if the blunt question had suddenly opened a floodgate of memories of his 'super-best friend'. The problem was, some of those memories hadn't happened yet.

And not all of them were good.

_I guess the other Goth Kids don't talk to Pete anymore. What? No! Didn't you hear? Pete got caught with weed, and what might be a hit of acid! No, Firkle quit hanging out with them when he started hanging out with Ike Broflovski. I dunno who this other kid is that Michael and Henrietta talk to._

“ _'Sup, dude?”_  
“What do you want, Mr. Conformist? Marsh, isn't it? I remember you.”  
“Yeah, I hung out with you guys for a while,” Stan admitted.  
“Well, whatever it is you wanna say, say it, before my folks pack my ass off to juvie until I'm 18.”  
“Heard about the drugs,” Stan offered, “Sucks. My folks found out about the booze problem of mine a while back.”  
“Fucking sucks,” Pete agreed.

“ _Stan?” Someone called though the packed hallway, as the bell rang._

_Stan ignored that high-pitched voice, but he did glance back once – looking for a green hat._

_No one wore hats anymore._

“ _Stan? Hold up!”_

“ _So, aren't you in my next class?” Stan asked Pete, ignoring that voice._

“You just left him standing in the hallway,” The Other told Stan, “Or I should say, you _will._ Maybe, maybe not. Not now.” The Other paused. “He cried that night, you know? First day of junior high, and Kyle walked home from the bus stop all alone. He waited for you at the exit, but you never came. Even after all those classes where you sat in the back with Pete, he still waited for you.” The Other paused. “And you never came,” he repeated.

“How do you know?!” Stan demanded, not sure if he were going to be able to cope with this temporal dementia (as he began to call it) any better than Craig had. For some odd reason, Stan felt the urge to laugh.

He was afraid, though. Afraid that if he started laughing, he might never stop.

“I was there,” The Other replied. “I'm sure that if you think hard enough about it, you'll come to the realization of just when and how you ruined Kyle's life, Stanley.”

“I didn't ruin _his_ life! He _fucking_ deserted me!” Stan retorted hotly.

“Stanley?” Sharon Marsh whispered at his door, “Are you OK?”

“No, I mean, yeah – sorry Mom! Bad dream!”

“All right, then,” Sharon whispered, as Stan listened to her footsteps fading off down the hallway.

“Everything he did was wrong in your eyes, Stan. And he was always there, waiting,” The Other reminded him. “He was still waiting for you to come around, when you called him a piece of shit. He tried, Stan, but you just went along, didn't you? You didn't see him the way that you used to, did you? Think about it, Stan – who did Kyle come to for help when the PC's attacked him? You. Didn't do much, did you? Remember how you all turned on him, when Leslie the Ad almost got him? And where were you, during the Heidi Turner debacle? Ever stop to think that you might have had a hand in Kyle's going off on President Garrison, and getting Canada nuked? Oh, sure, you were there on the trip to find Ike, but what did you actually _do_? Tweek and Craig? Heidi and Eric? Were you just along for the ride?”

The Other waited.

“He needed you, Stanley. He needed you, and you weren't there for him.”

Stan Marsh hid his face in his pillow, pulled his blanket over his head, and sobbed.

It was a long time before he fell asleep, but when he did, he dreamed.

He dreamed about a lonely boy with closely cropped red hair who drove an old VW Jetta to high school.

*

“Two years,” Craig Tucker muttered to himself, as he sat on the wooden stool at the workbench in his garage. Despite his new coveralls (with the name tag TWEEK), his yellow poofball hat, and his new insulated yellow boots, he was cold. He didn't dare turn the heater on though. After all, he was supposed to be in bed, asleep. It was a school night, and he didn't want to get caught out of bed working on the car again. “Two years before I even get her started,” Craig stared at partially disassembled Corvette. “Or so Kenny says.”

All those years of sitting under a tarp in a barn hadn't been kind to Red Racer.

 _I wanna be in pictures, you carry in your heart..._ played on **KROC** , static marring the sound on the Corvette's factory stereo.

“That's gotta go,” Craig sighed, noting the tell-tale flapping sound of dry rot in the speakers. Back in the day, 1977, the quadraphonic AM/FM stereo had been top of the line. “Four cylinder turbo engines make twice the horsepower of this old 350 now,” Craig bemoaned the work ahead of him as he checked the battery charger. “Hell, Ford had a turbo Mustang in '80 that was more powerful than the V-8 then! Fucking EPA!” Craig complained.

 _He lovingly patted the car's fender. “Someday, Red, I'll have all that power-stifling bullshit stripped off'a you, and I'll rebuild your engine. Then we'll see what you were_ _ **really**_ _meant to do!_ ”

Craig flinched at the memory. The problem was, he knew, that it was a memory of something that hadn't happened yet. He shook his head, blinked several times, then just stood there staring at the pristine red Corvette in front of him. “Does Kenny _really_ know? Maybe I _am_ in bed, and dreaming?” Craig told himself, trying to find the logical alternative to the sudden, disquieting feeling.

He touched the car's hood.

“ _350 cubic inches, bored thirty-over, thirteen-to-one compression pistons, ported and polished heads, three quarter cam, roller bearing shaft and lifters, and a Borg-Warner turbo fed by a custom injection plant,” a deeper, nasal, and flat voice echoed in his head, “Four on the floor, and a Dana replacement posi rear end for more top end._ ”

“W-we were just at Kenny's, working on Timmy's spare wheelchair,” Craig assured himself, as he opened the hood with a trembling hand. “I'm not in bed! I know I didn't go to bed!”

Where he should have seen a partially disassembled engine, light shone brightly off of the chrome valve covers. Bright yellow spark plug wires caught his attention, as did the gold-braid covered fuel lines running to the oversized injection plant atop the sparkling engine. To the side, his eyes locked on the Borg-Warner turbocharger unit that shone in chrome as well.

“No,” Craig told himself, as he shut the hood. He opened it again. The same engine stared back at him, as if beckoning.

He closed the hood again and went to the driver's side door.

Peering in, he saw the letter “C” embroidered on the driver's seat, with a “T” to compliment it on the passenger's side. The interior smelled of “new car”, the carpet fresh and clean, the upholstery flawless. There were no cracks in the dashpad, and on the modern stereo, 'Hootie & the Blowfish' played: “Hold my hand – I want you to hold my hand...”

Craig Tucker shrugged. “It's a nice dream,” he rationalized it, just as he got into the car.

Then he got back out to look at the engine again. After all, Craig was like that.

It wasn't done. It was rebuilt, but it wasn't all chromed-out and shiny. It looked rather stock, but for the HEI coil pack and yellow plug wires.

They were bright yellow, shining in the fluorescent lights, not unlike the tint of Tweek's hair. He noticed the vacuum booster for the power brakes, and the clean carburetor. “This is not going to sound good,” he mumbled, thinking about the rusted-out mufflers that stuck up the back of the car.

“Might as well,” Craig shrugged.

Again, Craig got in and turned the key.

The car started.

The noise was enough to wake the dead.

“YES!” Craig screamed, giving the gas pedal a slap with his foot. Black smoke filled the yard.

Red Racer was, after rotting away for years, forgotten in a barn in Greeley, once again alive.

“I should go and show Tweek!” Craig told himself.

But as he made to back the car out of the garage, it stalled. He got out, but as he walked around to the front of the car, what he saw nearly stopped his heart.

Red Racer was halfway destroyed.

The nose was crushed, the hood bent in half, the engine having been shoved back into the cabin, shattering the dash. The passenger side fender and support post, as well as half the roof, were torn away. Shards of ripped fiberglass stuck out at dangerous angles. The passenger side door was gone, and the passenger's seat was ripped in half. Blood dripped from the bent floorpan onto the garage floor.

“Th-this isn't r-real!” Craig shook his head, refusing to believe it.

“Oh, it's real,” a harsh voice assured him, as Craig turned to see Mysterion standing behind him.

But this wasn't the Mysterion that Craig knew. His costume was nearly all black, with only the familiar green question marks remaining of the old outfit. A black cape billowed on a nonexistent breeze, and Mysterion pointed a long, thin finger at the grass just outside the garage door. It was not unlike the Ghost of Christmas Past, Craig thought, pointing Ebeneezer Scrooge to his own grave.

Mysterion said nothing at all.

But the question marks, Craig saw, as he stared in shock, weren't green question marks anymore.

They were orange-trimmed black spheres, reminding him of a solar eclipse, and the figure's face was hidden by a mask resembling a full moon.

Still, this stranger did not speak again.

He merely pointed.

And Craig looked.

  
  


Craig Tucker screamed.

  
  


Covering his face, he fled the garage. He didn't go in the house, though. Without even stopping for his phone, he fled out the service door and ran down the sidewalk, the freezing night air making his lungs ache.

Still, he ran.

He didn't stop until he reached the red house at #20288, finding the spare key under a rock in the bushes, and letting himself in. He didn't bother to close the front door as he ran upstairs, past a surprised Richard Tweak, who simply shook his head and watched. Richard looked at the clock, noting that it was near four in the morning.

“Time to get ready to open the shoppe,” Mr. Tweak shrugged, “They're just _so_ gay,” he happily mused, as he grabbed his coat and hat, heading out the front door, as if seeing a terrified Craig dashing through his house at that hour were nothing at all out of the ordinary.

*

There was one boy of the gang that _was_ sleeping that night, though.

In his dream, Tweek was sitting in the lotus position next to a steaming lake of black coffee. Birds chirped in the distance, and a warm wind ruffled his unruly blond hair. A guinea pig sat between the boy's crossed legs, nibbling a carrot stick. As he cracked one eyelid just a bit, Tweek inhaled deeply, smelling the flowers that bloomed all around the lake. He moved to stroke Stripe's back, carefully picking up the small animal as he stood to look around.

The grass was soft under his bare feet, and the sun shone down on his white tunic, warming him.

Tweek was rather proud of that dream, and his ability to send himself there. Dr. Norris was always so pleased to hear that the boy was doing this, although Tweek was always less than pleased to have to go in to tell him about things like that. Then again, Tweek never told the therapist _everything_! Some dreams should be kept private, after all.

“You should try to include your boyfriend, Craig, in these meditations,” Dr. Norris had once told Tweek. “I've noticed how calm you get, just talking about him.”

“Craig thinks dreams are stupid, though,” Tweek sighed, as he looked out across the lake of coffee. He smiled at the silliness of it all.

On the far side of the lake, he could just make out a parked car: a red Corvette.

“That's never been there before?” Tweek wondered, “Look, Stripe, Daddy's here!” Tweek held the guinea pig up to see.

Stripe didn't seem to care, continuing to eat his carrot.

But as Tweek looked harder, willing himself to the other side of the lake for a better look, he saw that the figure standing next to the car wasn't Craig.

It was another boy in a black costume with a moon-mask, and an eclipsing sun on his chest.

“Hey, you're that Eclipse-kid I heard about on the news!” Tweek greeted him calmly.

The figure in black simply nodded. “Nice place you have here, Tweek,” he commented, “Nice and warm! I'm sorry I have to intrude.”

“Why's that?” Tweek asked, shrugging, “It's just a dream?”

“But it's _your_ dream, and you're about the only one sleeping tonight,” Eclipse told him, taking in the almost-angelic child before him, and wondering if it were he, or Tweek, causing that perception. “And you're about to get jolted out of it, I'm afraid.”

“Why?” Tweek asked.

“Craig's freaking out,” Eclipse explained, “He had a really bad vision, and Craig isn't equipped to deal with that kinda thing.”

“A vision?” Tweek wondered.

“Well, actually he saw through a rip in time,” Eclipse clarified. “You know about that, right? Korx?”

Tweek's brows creased in thought. “It's that meteor rock, isn't it? Things got kinda weird, ever since Korx gave it to me.”

“I'm afraid so,” Eclipse agreed, cocking his head. “Korx is a time traveler, after all. You're taking this quite well?”

“You mean meeting you?” Tweek shrugged, “It's _South Park_ ,” He smirked, “I mean, if Korx can come back in time for take-out, why not a metahuman like you?”

“Good point,” Eclipse agreed, “I just wanted to warn you, is all.”

 _You should warn him about the REST of it!_ Eclipse told himself, just as a scream disturbed the idyllic scene of the dream.

“There he is now,” Tweek agreed, as the lake and surrounding meadow spun away.

*

“AIGHHHHH!” Craig screamed, as Tweek sat bolt upright in bed. He immediately remembered the dream, still fresh in his mind, as Craig grabbed him by the sides of his head and screamed again. Right in his face.

“Dude, what time is it?” Tweek yawned, oblivious to the role-reversal that was playing out.

“Y-you're here! Here in b-bed! And you're OK!” Craig gasped, yanking back the blankets and forcibly turning Tweek this way and that, checking him over.

“Good thing I don't sleep _naked_ , huh?” Tweek joked, noting the pained smile on Craig's face.

It was an expression that Tweek had never seen on Craig before, and he didn't think he liked it.

Craig ignored that comment, though. He just pulled Tweek close, hugging him uncomfortably tight and shaking. Craig's snow-crusted hat and coat didn't help matters, either.

Whether from fear, the cold, or both, Tweek couldn't tell as he wrapped his arms around Craig in return. He looked over Craig's shoulder to see snow and mud tracked all over the floor, realizing that Craig must have run all the way from his own house in the middle of the night. Tweek glanced at the alarm clock, seeing that it was four in the morning.

“Craig?” Tweek asked, the memory of Eclipse coming back to him, “When did you start sleeping in your coveralls and boots?”

_No, but those boots say you TAKE it in the ass..._

“C-couldn't sleep,” Craig shivered, “Was out in the g-garage, working on the c-car. I saw... I saw...” Craig froze up again, staring at Tweek as if he weren't sure that he were really there or not.

Then he hugged Tweek again, and burst into tears.

“Craig, you're scaring me?” Tweek offered, never before having had to deal with such an outburst like this before. Always before, it was reversed: Tweek was the one coming unglued, while Craig worked to calm him down. “Jesus, man!” Tweek then squeaked in alarm, “You're freezing! And filthy!” He gently removed the yellow poofball hat and laid it on the bed.

All Craig could do was pant, though. His breath was coming in ragged, wheezy gasps. His face was red, his nose was running, and his lips were beginning to turn blue.

“Tweek, Honey, is everything all right?” Helen Tweak asked, as she peeked in the door. “Did you have a bad dream again?”

“It's OK, Mom,” Tweek waved her off.

“Hello, Craig!” She added sweetly, if not obliviously, “Would you like some coffee?”

“Mommmmm,” Tweek groaned, wondering that Craig bursting into their house, in the middle of a school night, didn't seem to affect her at all, “I think coffee is the LAST thing he needs now!” He glared at her. “MOM?!”

“Yes, Tweek?”

“Run a hot bath, OK?” Tweek suggested, extricating himself from Craig and attempting to get him out of the coveralls. “Craig, let go! Craig?” Tweek repeated, “You're half-frozen! You're gonna have pneumonia! Were you up working on that stupid car all night, again?” Tweek demanded, giving up on the coverall zipper and instead yanking one of Craig's sloppy yellow boots off.

“Guess I'd better fetch the carpet shampooer,” Helen mused.

“Car, y-yeah,” Craig coughed, as Tweek yanked his other boot off.

 _Something is very, very wrong here,_ Tweek told himself, as he finally got Craig out of his coveralls. As he stood there in only his briefs, Craig just stared unnervingly into Tweek's eyes. _The lights are on, but nobody's home,_ Tweek thought.

 _Craig's freaking out,_ Eclipse had said, as Tweek suddenly found it surprisingly easy to 'keep it together' himself. He led Craig to the bathroom.

“Craig, get in the tub, OK? You're frozen,” Tweek reminded him.

“I-it was the car,” Craig mumbled, as he fumbled to get his briefs off and nearly tripped and fell into the tub. Tweek steadied him and eased him down.

“You had a bad dream,” Tweek told him, as Craig flinched at the hot water. Tweek added some lavender bubble bath.

“I never w-went to bed,” Craig protested, gripping Tweek's arm so tightly that it hurt. “I...I saw the c-car, Tweek! It was all restored, and I got in it, but when I started it, it wasn't modded out,” Craig began to ramble, “And it was loud, and I wanted to drive over and show you, but then it stalled, and when I got out, it was-” Craig paused, having never taken his eyes off of Tweek.

Tweek gasped, noticing how blue, and how 'hard', Craig's eyes were.

They reminded him of the blue crystals on the meteor rock that had been his Christmas gift to Craig.

“The car was – what – Craig?” Tweek prompted him. “The car isn't even driveable!”

Craig's lip quivered, but he didn't seem able to speak. He put his hands over his face, bubbles and all, and began to sob.

Tweek had never seen Craig act like this before, and he immediately realized that he didn't ever want to see it again.

“Don't move!” Tweek ordered him, opening the door to shout at his mother. Then he went back to Craig, who nearly pulled him into the tub, pyjamas and all. Tweek just sat there, getting wet, as Craig cried and mumbled incoherently.

Helen arrived with a steaming cup of cocoa, and one of Tweek's Ativan pills.

“I don't think an ADHD pill is going to help, Tweek,” Helen observed, “Shouldn't we call his parents?”

“Mom, it's not for ADHD, it's a tranquilizer! Don't you guys even _listen_ to Dr. Norris?” Tweek complained, “And no, not 'til I find out what happened to him! Geeez, he's hysterical, Mom!” Tweek snapped, getting Craig to take the mug and pill.

“Careful! It's hot!” Tweek gasped, as Craig sucked down the cocoa. It seemed to help.

“Just sit,” Tweek told Craig, as he fetched a washcloth and nudged Craig forward a bit. He rubbed his back. “Close your eyes. Damn, your ears are still cold! How can your ears be cold with a hat like that?” Tweek wondered.

“C-cold,” Craig managed, and Tweek could feel him shivering, despite the bath water. Tweek turned the hot tap on, steaming up the room. “Tweek, I... I s-saw -”

“Forget it,” Tweek cut him off, “Just be still.”

“I... I was... I was supposed to... remember something?” Craig finally said, looking confused. “But I forgot?”

“Is that what upset you?” Tweek gently encouraged him, dumping some water over Craig's head.

“Yeah, think so,” Craig spluttered.

“Was it about the car?” Tweek reminded him.

Craig tensed up again. “I... I think so,” Craig agreed, “I saw the car. It was totaled! And this kid was there! In my garage! I thought it was Kenny, in his Mysterion suit, but it wasn't! He changed, and it was -”

“Eclipse, you probably heard about him on the news,” Tweek told him.

“Yeah, guess so,” Craig sighed, “I dunno what came over me,” he added, and Tweek couldn't tell if he were embarrassed, or if it was just the steam making his face pink.

Tweek leaned over and kissed his cheek. “With all the weird shit that goes on in this town, who knows what it was?”

“Kenny thinks I'm gonna wreck that car, and hurt you,” Craig reminded him. “I think I better get rid of it.”

Tweek froze.

“Craig, you _love_ that car?” Tweek asked.

“Not if it's gonna hurt you, Babe,” Craig shook his head, grabbing up the washcloth again and hiding his face with it. “Kenny was right about Timmy, Clyde, and Butters. He knows things, Tweek. I think he's been trying to tell me something. And something about that rock you gave me? The meteorite?” Craig thought hard. “Korx, I mean, Keith, said something about it? Radiation, I think? When we were working on Timmy's spare wheelchair? Why can't I _remember,_ though? I mean, I went. We talked. Me and Stan fixed the chair, right? I think we did, at least.”

For some strange reason, Tweek thought of Eclipse again.

_Craig's freaking out..._

“I was gonna help Kenny work on his bike, before he got hurt,” Craig held up a finger, as if remembering something. “No, that wasn't it. Shit! Anyway, Keith was saying something about crystals, and that time that Timmy went back in time to third grade, remember?” Craig then began to talk.

“You warm? You're turning into a prune,” Tweek pointed out, as Craig finished describing his night at Kenny's house. “Sounds like fun?”

“Wish you hadn't had to work,” Craig sighed, as he exited the tub. Tweek steadied him, as Craig's knees nearly buckled. He blushed again.

“I, erm, gave you an Ativan,” Tweek told him, “So school's out of the question. You should go to my room and go to bed.”

“You coming with me?” Craig smiled, as Tweek wrapped him a towel. Craig yawned.

Once he was dried off, Craig put on Tweek's bathrobe. “This thing barely covers my butt,” Craig complained.

“You're right,” Tweek checked. “You and those 34-inch legs,” Tweek grinned. “C'mon, bed, now,” Tweek ordered him.

“Tweek?” Craig asked, his voice small, and sounding very strange to Tweek, “Don't leave, OK?” Craig sat down on the bed.

“I just need to call your mom, Cupcake,” Tweek grinned at him.

“Yeah, she should be up now, getting Dad off to work,” Craig agreed. “Where's my clothes? Yours are too small for me!”

“Probably in the washer, if I know Mom,” Tweek replied, as he picked up his phone. “So get naked,” Tweek shrugged, as he made the call and explained what had happened. As he turned back around, he saw that Craig was in the bed, and that the robe was on the floor.

“Just keep him there,” Laura Tucker agreed, “Thank you, Tweek! I'll call his pediatrician, and pick him up later. You're staying home from school?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Tweek assured her.

After he'd turned his phone off, Tweek stripped off his damp pyjamas and joined Craig in bed.

“Did you lock the door, Babe?” Craig grinned, pulling Tweek close, but his eyes were drooping. He yawned again.

“Should I?” Tweek smiled, covering Craig's mouth with his own.

_Practice kissing on my teddy bear?! Are you insane, Kenny?!_

“So warm,” Craig just managed, as he drifted off.

“I'm right here, Craig. Just go to sleep,” Tweek said softly.

Tweek remained awake, though. At six, he turned his phone back on and made a call.

“Kevin? Hey, it's Tweek. Listen, I know it's gonna sound weird, but what's chronoton radiation, and what does it do?” Tweek asked.

 


	29. Kevin Stoley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys miss school after a late night at Kenny's. Clyde, Kevin, and those other guys wonder why they're out sick. Kevin Stoley gets an idea, but Bradley Biggle, AKA Mint Berry Crunch, isn't so sure that it's a good idea. As Bradley and Kevin try and figure out what's going on in South Park, they get an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Kevin/Bradley type chapter, but there is no shipping or slash to it. They're 12, after all! I've taken some liberties with Bradley here, but, I figured I couldn't ignore him any longer. Or Kevin!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**29**

**Kevin Stoley**

*****

At the bus stop that next morning, Token, Clyde, and Jimmy were all looking up and down the street, wondering where Tweek and Craig were. Some blocks over, as the girls boarded, they'd noticed that Butters (always the first one on) wasn't there. As Clyde and his friends were talking about it, the bus rolled up to the stop where Kevin Stoley, Douglas, Bradley Biggle, and David Rodriguez boarded.

There was no one at the next stop.

“THE - HELL - IS - THIS?!” Miss Crabtree screeched, as the bus peeled out.

“¡Újule! Where is everyone today?” David wondered.

“I dunno,” Clyde yawned, “But did anyone else have weird dreams last night?” Several of the boys turned to give him 'the look'. “What?” Clyde asked, “There was something weird going on last night, guys! And don't try an' tell me there wasn't!”

“You having nightmares about your checkups in Denver again?” Token grinned, but the look on his face betrayed the fact that he knew what Clyde was talking about.

Clyde flipped him off, as Craig wasn't there to do it for him. “Lemme shove a video camera up _your_ ass, and see how _you_ like it!” Clyde snapped, “And don't gimme that! What did _you_ dream about, Token?” Clyde looked him right in the eyes, refusing to blink.

Token finally looked away. “I was arguing with Mom and Dad over breakfast, then went to the garage. I was going to drive to school in the Rover. Thing is, Dad hates Rovers. We don't even _have_ one. And for some reason, I slammed the door and then went 'all-Clyde' over something. I woke up...” Token paused, the brown tone of his unblemished face shifting redder. He looked away from Clyde, staring out the window. “Sobbing.”

“C-crying fit?” Jimmy asked, as his lazy eye rolled to one side.

Clyde nodded as well.

“Yeah, but you always have bad dreams about hospitals, Clyde?” Jason White reminded him.

“This is different,” Clyde replied, “It's a feeling, not the dreams, so much. I got a really bad feeling this time, OK? And it wasn't a hospital. This time, it was a funeral home, not the checkup doctor's.”

“At least you can _get_ checkups,” Bradley mumbled, his face pink as he looked down at his lap.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Kevin asked, noticing that Bradley looked a bit pale when his blush subsided.

“Alien,” Douglas coughed the word into his hand, effectively changing the subject.

Since their great adventure with Cthulhu, even though not all of the boys currently on the bus had been there, there were a few more 'in the know' that were aware that their friend was an extraterrestrial. Of course, this was not general knowledge, and the fact that the boys had been able to contain it was nothing short of a miracle. Kevin Stoley was especially fascinated by this, even though no one seemed overly impressed by it. Bradley, after all, presented as totally human.

“You don't look so good?” Kevin asked Bradley.

“I didn't sleep too good last night, either,” Bradley admitted, sounding congested.

“TOLD YOU!” Clyde blurted, “It's not just me!”

“Clyde, the two of you having a rough night doesn't mean anything,” Token put in, but not sounding very convinced. “OK, the three of us,” he added hastily.

“Then why's so many kids out sick today?” Clyde retorted, “I bet there's something going around! Kyle, yeah – but Stan almost never gets sick!”

“Knowing them, they probably went to Somalia, or somewhere,” Kevin shrugged. “Once was enough for me! I don't want anything to do with them – ever again!”

“P-P-P-Peru,” Jimmy corrected them, “Craig's always on about Peh...Pehhh...Pehhhhhh-”

“Peru,” Clyde filled in for him. “And I bet if you call Craig, which you can't, I tried – since his phone's off – he'd say the same thing!”

“Well, Bradley isn't exactly affected by the same things that we are,” Kevin reminded them. “You _know_ what dairy products do to him?” Bradley elbowed Kevin in the ribs. “Seriously, though, I was looking at Sirius through my telescope last night, and the red shift was all wrong.”

“Relativistic time dilation,” Bradley muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, and wishing that he'd never given Kevin alien tech to augment his scientific toys. He was worried that if NASA found out about the enhanced telescope, they'd confiscate it – right along with Kevin! The last thing Kevin needed, so Bradley thought, was to make some crazy discovery with Kokujonian tech. _Then they'd find out about me,_ Bradley fretted, _But at least Henrietta's been quiet about it._

“Now you sound like Craig, or Kenny?” Kevin grinned. “But speaking of, Tweek called me this morning. I don't think he's ever done that before? I don't think any of you have, come to think,” Kevin went on, “He asked me what chronoton radiation was, and what it does.”

“The _hell_ does _Tweek_ know about chronoton radiation?!” Bradley gasped, his face going pink again, and his ears green. Douglas began to sneeze at the potent aroma of mint coming off of Bradley.

“T-Turn it off, B,” Jimmy warned him.

“What the fuck is chromo-tonic radiation?” Clyde asked, shuddering and running a hand through his thick, brown hair, as if checking to see if it were all still there. “I've already had enough radiation treatments and chemo to make me glow in the dark!”

“It's 'chronoton',” Kevin corrected him, as the bus stopped and picked up some sulky high-schoolers who didn't drive, “And it's only theoretical. The existence of chronoton particles hasn't been proven. They talk about it on _**Star Trek**_ a lot.”

“It's usually associated with cloaking devices, or things that disrupt time,” Token nodded. “I think. Craig's the other Trek-nerd,” he winked at Kevin. “Although _**DS9**_ is pretty cool!”

“Right,” Kevin smiled, “You just wanna be Captain Sisko!”

Token grinned, although he'd never confess to playing 'space station' at his house with the Federation Kids.

“Sooooo?!” Clyde held out his hands, “What's that got to do with Tweek?” Clyde then snapped his fingers. “Korx!”

Kevin nodded. “Our time-tripping friend probably knows all about it. Too bad _he's_ absent, too, huh?” Kevin raised an eyebrow. “But come to think, he probably emits chronotons all over the place when he shows up?”

“'They', Korx isn't a boy,” Token corrected him, “And it's 'Keith' now.”

“Then why've they got a boy's name?” Jason wondered.

“Whatever!” Kevin rolled his eyes, “But no, chronotons, gravitons, the Higgs-Boson, and such, are all theoretical particles right now, although they're planning to build a particle accelerator that's gonna prove the Higgs' existence,” Kevin told them, “And when they do, the other ones can't be far behind. Can you imagine, being able to harness gravitons or chronotons?”

“But what do they DO?!” Clyde repeated. “Damn, man! I'm not Stephen Hawking!”

“They mess up the flow of time, when you get enough of them in one place,” Bradley muttered, “And cause migraines.” He paused to look up at them, looking paler. “Well, not in _humans_ , at least.”

“B-but they do with y-your p-p-peeeee...people?” Jimmy surmised.

Bradley nodded. “Clyde's right, something's going on. I've had headaches ever since Christmas. I mean, it got worse when Korx showed up to get those donuts, to go.” He paused again, looking around to see that everyone else was ignoring them. “Remember all the school I missed when the Time Refugees were all coming here from the rift out on 285? And every time I go in Tweek's shoppe, I get sick. I thought it was the floor cleaner at first, you know, that pine crap? But right after Christmas, that stopped.”

“You're allergic to Pine-Sol?” Token wondered.

Bradley looked around again. “And Cobalt-54, nickel, and Iridium-154.”

“You're allergic to nickels?” Clyde wondered.

“There's no such thing as that element, well, there's nickel,” one of the nerdy high school girls near them spoke up.

“There is where _I_ come from,” Bradley muttered under his breath.

“So that means that Tweek had some cobalt in his shoppe, but now it's gone?” Douglas wondered.

Bradley and Kevin exchanged hard looks. Both of them nodded.

“Remember when Timmy and the dorks next door to Kyle broke the time barrier, back in fourth grade?” Kevin asked, “Bradley got sick then, too. He was sick as a dog on New Year's, and it wasn't the punch, either!”

“We were at Tweek's, though?” Douglas reminded them.

“And so was Kenny, in Timmy's old chair,” Bradley nodded again. “And every time I get near Kenny, since he broke his leg, I get sick. Now Tweek is asking about chronoton radiation?”

“But Kenny and Tweek aren't here today?” Jason pointed out, “So why are you sick?”

“There had to have been a burst of chronoton radiation in this town last night, somewhere,” Bradley reasoned, “Which means a time traveler probably showed up.”

“In order to break the time barrier, Timmy's wheelchair had to be emitting high levels of chronotons,” Kevin told them, “What if the tech is still on it, or whatever powered it, that those government guys missed, when they stripped down Timmy's chair and took those two nerds who invented it away?”

“Well, it explains why Bradley gets sick,” David agreed, “But what's it got to do with Tweek? Or Kenny?”

“Kenny knows things,” Clyde reminded them, his voice very low. “He knew about me.”

“And Timmy's head,” Jimmy reminded them, “And the artery in my leg!”

“So what does this cobalt shit look like?” Clyde then asked, “And is it dangerous?”

“It's blue, and crystalline in form,” Bradley informed them, “But it doesn't exist on Earth. You have to have normal cobalt come into contact with expelled dwarf star material, with near-black hole pressure to form it. Or rocky-type planetary collisions. It's fairly common in the Sirius Systems.” Bradley looked hard at Clyde. “Now I'm not saying it's happening here, but with Korx showing up again, well...you get enough chronotons, and time can slow down, run backwards, go forwards again, or even stop!”

“Aliens,” David grinned.

“Where the red shift is high,” Kevin reminded them again. “And that's probably how the Goobacks did it in the first place, ya think?” He began to sound excited. “They built up a local field of chronotons around something – call it an accelerator – and then time ran backwards, until it lined up here, forming a rift!”

“Probably that funny rock that Korx gave Tweek, that he gave to Craig for Christmas,” Clyde then shrugged, totally missing it. “It was blue. Pretty, and blue. Had some other metal-looking stuff on it, too. Tweek put it in his safe, but he showed it to me.” Clyde's eyes went very wide. “Holy shit! What if he _irradiated_ me?”

“Calm down, Clyde, don't go all-Tweeky on us!” Token steadied him.

“AT THE SHOPPE?!” Bradley exclaimed, which got everyone's attention.

“SHUT UP!” Miss Crabtree screeched, as the bus swerved and nearly hit a parked car.

“Well, it's probably in a box under Craig's bed now,” Clyde shrugged, just as it hit him. “OHHHHH!”

“Question is,” Kevin asked, his eyes going distant, “What's that rock doing to them, and how did Tweek find out what it can do? What if it's emitting chronoton radiation?”

“This could be bad,” Clyde fretted.

Bradley put his hand on Clyde's shoulder. “Don't worry, Clyde, that kinda radiation doesn't cause cancer in humans.”

Clyde sniffled and nodded, covering his face.

“And why are they all absent today?” David asked, “You know, Stan's Gang?”

“Knowing Kyle, Stan, and Kenny, they're probably right in the middle of it all,” Token surmised, trying to comfort Clyde, “Kenny's been pretty chummy with Craig lately. I'm just glad that Cartman's still in jail, where he belongs!”

“Connected?” Kevin wondered.

“This could be bad,” Bradley fretted, wringing his hands, “Really bad!”

“Why's that?” Kevin asked, “If we can get a look at that rock, we might be able to prove the existence of chronotons!”

“That rock isn't just a rock,” Bradley explained, “If it came from Sirius, and likely from Sirius-B, then it's probably carrying minute amounts of dwarf star matter, too. That damn thing is probably giving off enough...” he paused again. “I dunno how to explain it, guys? If you know how different forms of matter and energy interact, that thing could be giving off as much power as a nuclear reactor!”

“Enough to power a time machine?” Kevin wondered.

Bradley looked sharply at him. “Maybe,” he admitted, as the bus pulled up the school, skidded to a stop, with the usual loud screech that, from Miss Crabtree, meant 'goodbye'.

“Wish you'd learn how to drive,” Jason mumbled.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” Miss Crabtree screeched.

“I said I'm happy to be alive!” Jason replied.

“Oh, so am I!” Miss Crabtree nodded.

“Guys, why was I expecting to see a Mexican dude pick us up this morning, instead of her?” Douglas asked, as he caught Jimmy from the second bus step. “No offense, David!”

“None taken,” David nodded, “I was expecting to see Hector, too.”

“Who?” Jason asked.

As the boys disembarked, Clyde was pinching the bridge of his nose. “That all made _my_ head hurt!”

“You'd think he'd be in a gifted and talented program, and Bradley wouldn't even be here!” Token wondered, watching Kevin and Bradley heading off together.

“We don't have a G&T program,” Douglas sighed.

“NRGH! We should warn Craig about that rock, before he ends up in the middle of World War 2, or something!” Clyde fretted. “That radiation's probably _cooked_ him by now!”

“Clyde, I don't think a blue rock is gonna make Craig Tucker go back in time,” Token assured him, “You know how Kevin gets. C'mon, man, you're getting all Tweeky on me!”

“It must be the iridium,” Kevin was saying to Bradley, as the two drifted out of earshot, “Otherwise, you'd have all that chronoton radiation forming a distortion! But you'd have to have some way to focus it, which might be what the nickel-iron core...”

“You know, we didn't have problems like this, back in Boise?” David offered.

*

Despite the strange conversation from that morning bus ride, nothing out of the ordinary happened at South Park Jr/Sr High that day. Kevin Stoley was distracted, however, as he made sketches of a theoretical device to harness chronotons. Bradley didn't see it until lunch, as he'd spent his second and third periods in the nurse's office. It was a risk, Bradley knew, but he figured that if _did_ get sick, then he'd have to trust someone.

That someone turned out to be Nurse Gollum.

“If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were an alien,” She'd laughed, the first time she'd examined Bradley Biggle. “Your heart is where your liver should be!” And that was to say nothing of the boy's impossible pulse rate, or the fact that his blood tended to turn pink when exposed to air. She'd joked that he might be part Klingon.

 _Just what I need, another **Trek** nerd, _Bradley had sighed.

“You're having a lot of these headaches lately,” Nurse Gollum observed, “Is everything all right at home, Bradley?”

_You have no idea!_

“Yes, it's fine, Ma'am,” Bradley replied, as she fetched him one of his pills from the students' medicine cabinet. What she didn't know was that the alien medication, complete with a falsified prescription label, was powerful enough to overdose a dozen grown men. Kokujonian physiology, after all, didn't respond to any Terran pain medications that Bradley had so far tried.

 _I shouldn't have mentioned it to Kevin,_ Bradley thought, sighing in relief as the Kokujonian pain pill started to work. _The last thing I need is for someone here on Earth to figure out how chronotons work! But they're going to, seeing as how the Time Refugees have already been here! SHIT! What if me telling Kevin about it is what causes it? Or what if Korx giving Tweek that cobalt meteorite does it? Damn, I promised Dad that I wouldn't interfere with Earth's technological progress! Hell, these savages won't even market Mint-Berry Crunch breakfast cereal!_

As he began to drift off, as the medication caused him to need about a two hour nap, Bradley began to wonder that none of his friends seemed to care that he was an alien. He remembered Kevin Stoley asking him all about it, though, after the Cthulhu debacle.

“You don't even have pointed ears?”

“I'm not a Vulcan, Kev.”

“Green blood?”

“Nope. Red. Dries pink.”

“Five fingers and toes?”

“Yep,” Bradley had held up his hands and taken off a shoe.

“Well, for an alien, that's kinda boring, don't'cha think? Then again, there's _Hodgkin's Law of Parallel Planet Development_.”

And both boys had laughed.

“Heat vision?”

“I'm not Superman,” Bradley had sighed.

“So what's your Kryptonite?” Kevin had asked, and then thought better of it.

But Bradley had told him. He trusted Kevin. “Raw milk, it's like battery acid to me; pasteurized is OK, though. And nickel, the element. And chronoton particles, like on _**Star Trek**_.”

“But you can fly?” Kevin had asked dreamily.

“Yeah. You wanna see what's it like?”

*

Craig Tucker had never had an erotic dream before, and wasn't sure what to make of it when he awoke. Realizing that he wasn't in his own bed didn't help, either. It also didn't help that he was naked.

“What the fuck?!” Craig gasped.

“That better've been me you were dreaming about,” Tweek commented, as Craig jerked his head around to see Tweek sitting at his computer desk, doing homework. “I'm supposed to call your mom when you woke up, but do you want me to wait?” Tweek grinned.

Craig stared at his boyfriend, sitting there in his white hooded robe, sipping coffee. Tweek just rolled his eyes and tossed Craig a package of baby-wipes. “They're great for coffee spills, or...” Tweek smirked.

Craig could feel his own face getting hot.

“You wanna tell me about it?” Tweek asked.

“NO!” Craig snorted. “Shit! What time is it?”

“We missed school,” Tweek informed him, “I called and got our assignments.”

“You're taking this … well?” Craig sniffed, as he clumsily used the wipes under the blankets. “Where's my clothes?”

“In the dryer,” Tweek replied, raising an eyebrow.

Craig waited. “Well, could you go _fetch_ 'em for me, Babe? Please?” He almost begged.

Tweek couldn't contain himself any longer. He nearly fell off his chair laughing. “I guess I better put the sheets in the washer while I'm at it, too!” He laughed. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

“It's not?” Craig wondered.

“What's _that_ supposed to mean?” Tweek asked defensively, but still smirking.

“Were you talking to someone on the phone?” Craig then asked, changing the subject, which was making him blush furiously. “I thought I heard you, before I passed out?”

“Yeah, Kevin Stoley,” Tweek replied, giving Craig a long look. “You wanna tell me what the hell was wrong with you? Geeze, Dude, you scared the shit outta me!”

“I...I kinda...freaked out,” Craig answered, “I was out working on my car. Couldn't sleep for some reason, after we got done at Kenny's with Timmy's chair. I think I...I remember something Keith said about taking a crystal out of it? Something to do with Timmy going back in time that once? It's kinda foggy, though. Like some of it faded out? I dunno?”

“Good thing I knew you were coming, or I'd'a prob'ly peed the bed,” Tweek told him.

“How'd you know?” Craig gasped.

“I was dreaming about my happy place, you know, the place Dr. Norris told me to meditate on?”

“The meadow with the lake full'a coffee, Babe?”

“Yeah, there. Anyway, that Eclipse-kid showed up and told me you were coming,” Tweek informed him.

“That's not the first I heard of him,” Craig nodded, as he finished cleaning himself up. He then got out of bed, without bothering about modesty, and stripped the sheets. “I heard that Davey kid, the eighth-grader, said something about him before he got sent off to juvie for robbery, back 'round Christmas. And they said that at his trial, Cartman started ranting at the judge about Eclipse being some kinda superhero that brain-raped him? Like he's a telepath, or something?”

“Well, it isn't one of us filling if for Kenny, while Mysterion is down,” Tweek shrugged. “But there's no new kids in town now, so it's gotta be someone we know?”

“What's he look like?” Craig asked, fetching some clean sheets from the chest of drawers. He grabbed a pair of boxers and put them on. “Dammit Tweek! Your boxers fit me like Speedos with legs!”

Tweek giggled, and Craig felt a rush of headiness. He sat down on the bed again. “Well,” Tweek replied, “He wears black, like Mysterion's new outfit. But he has a black hood, and gloves. His face is covered by a mask of a full moon, and I hear he's got a fiery one too, like a real solar eclipse. He's a little taller than me, but shorter than you.”

“Everyone is shorter than me,” Craig sighed. “But from what Cartman said, it sounds like this kid is a _real_ superhero.”

“Well, Bradley's an alien, so would it be _that_ weird?” Tweek asked.

“Guess not,” Craig shrugged. “So why'd you call Kevin?”

It was Tweek's turn to blush. He gathered up the homework, and separated out Craig's copies. “I been having weird dreams lately,” Tweek admitted, “They started when Keith brought that meteorite rock.” Tweek gave him another hard look. “And after this morning, I bet you're having them, too?”

Craig looked down at his lap and nodded slowly.

“It must have been a zinger, to make you flip out – like me?” Tweek asked, softening his voice. “You don't freak out like that for anything?”

“I...I do, I mean, I did, this time,” Craig admitted. “It was about the car.”

“Was it totaled out?” Tweek asked, which made Craig look up sharply and nod. His face was pale again. “I had the same one,” Tweek told him, “I'm in the car with you, we're on a highway, going really fast, and then there's four headlights coming at us, both lanes. Then I just snap awake.”

Craig found himself feeling that he couldn't face Tweek. The thought of even voicing the horrible fragments of the vision that he could recall made his stomach churn. He forced himself to look up, and for just an instant, he could have sworn that Tweek was glowing. His robe looked impossibly white, and his hair was glowing like spotlit gold. The word “angel” came to his mind.

“The car was wrecked, Tweek,” Craig was just able to manage, “The whole passenger side was torn off. It was like, while I was working on it, I...I went, or saw, forward in time? I dunno. The car was rebuilt, then it was heavy-modded out. Then it was crashed.”

“The passenger side was torn off?” Tweek pressed him.

Craig nodded, putting his hands over his face. He shuddered, but didn't cry.

“And that was why you freaked out?” Tweek asked again.

“Y-yeah.”

But if Tweek knew what Craig was inferring, he didn't let on. He just went to sit by him, putting an arm around Craig and waiting for it to pass.

“I'm gonna get r-rid of Red Racer.”

“Not again,” Tweek sighed, “We've talked out this, Craig.”

“I'm not keeping a car that wants to _kill_ you!” Craig blurted.

“That killer doesn't even run anymore,” Tweek reminded him. “It's sitting in your shop right now, in about a million pieces.”

“Yeah, but what about four years from now?” Craig asked, “And what about what I saw? And what about all that stuff that Kenny said?”

“Things started getting weird, that day Kenny almost choked at lunch, before Christmas,” Tweek pointed out. “I mean, yeah, Keith's been here before, but now he's living with Kyle, and so was Kenny – for a while?”

“And we never hung out with them before,” Craig reminded him. “So, you think it's got something to do with my meteorite?” Craig reminded him. “Why?”

“It's a stretch,” Tweek admitted, his face going a bit pink, “But I've had dreams about it. Remember when Kyle got sick at the shoppe, and you walked him out?”

“Yeah?”

“I had this dream like that, a couple'a times, but we're teenagers, and Keith is telling me about chronoton radiation. So, I called Kevin.”

“Chronoton radiation only exists on _**Star Trek**_ ,” Craig reminded him.

“Yeah, but it messes up time,” Tweek explained, “And I keep dreaming about it. It's like, how can I dream about being a teenager, and have it look so real? Sometimes, I swear I'm really there! It makes me wanna give up sleeping again!” Tweek fidgeted, and it was Craig's turn to calm him down.

“Tweek, Honey, you can't go back to the way you were. You were a mess when we hooked up, remember?” Craig made a low, growling sound. “I'm sorry, Babe, but I fuckin' _hate_ your dad!”

“So did whoever beat the crap out of him, and set our old house on fire,” Tweek nodded. “Well, the garage.”

“So what did Kevin have to say?” Craig changed the subject.

“A bunch'a shit I didn't get, but the thing about time travel, I did,” Tweek replied. “So I put two and two together, I guess, but I keep coming up with five! Nrgh! I mean, if what Kevin told me is right, and we know you can time-travel, since Keith is here again, right? So what if what Kevin said about a bunch of chronoton particle-thingies making a cloud when Keith shows up is messing up time in South Park? What if it's messing with us? And what about your meteorite? I mean, geeez, Craig! That thing has to be worth a lot'a money, doesn't it?” Tweek shivered. “And he just _gave_ it to me?”

“Hard to tell about the future,” Craig shrugged, “It might be worthless. I mean, they don't even have donuts then?”

Just then, Tweek's phone rang.

“I'm _fine,_ Mom,” Craig sighed, noting the called ID, “NO! I _don't_ wanna go to the doctor! There's nothing wrong with me!”

“Not _now_ ,” Tweek muttered under his breath.

“Well, I dunno, Mom! Maybe anxiety is contagious, and I caught it from Tweek? What? Oh, hey, Dad.” Craig nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, sir,” he finally gave up. “I'll get ready, Tweek said my clothes were in the dryer.” He hung up.

“Well?” Tweek asked nervously.

“I have to go the doctor's office tomorrow, Mom and Dad are freaked out,” Craig sighed in defeat.

“Well, you _did_ sorta go running across town at four in the morning, in just coveralls, and broke into my house, screaming?” Tweek smiled at him.

“Like _you_ didn't used to do that all the time?” Craig retorted, but he did smile.

“That was when Kim Jong Un wanted to blow me up,” Tweek replied.

“Yeah, good thing President Cate got that all sorted out,” Craig agreed.

“You were always the one who said dreams were just stupid,” Tweek then reminded him, before he kissed him.

*

While the Tuckers were collecting their son from Tweek's house, Kevin Stoley was deeply absorbed in his work.

Since coming home from school, he'd been in his room, sketching out designs for what he thought might be a way to detect, and even harness, the theoretical particles known as 'chronotons'. And even though they were only theoretical, something from sci-fi TV shows, Kevin was convinced that they were real. He wasn't sure why he was so convinced; he only knew that he was.

“If there really are Higgs particles holding things together, giving things mass, it would make sense that something has to push them all out of the way, when Korx or any other Futurists show up,” Kevin muttered to himself. He looked at his sketches again.

He'd drawn a toroid shape, much like a somewhat flattened donut. Again, donuts were on his mind, just like the particles. The toroid sat atop a flat base of nickel, a few millimeters thick, and was composed of iridium. From the edge, like a watchband, he'd drawn just that, so that they device could be worn on the wrist. In the center of the toroid, he'd drawn a crystal and colored it blue.

“The problem is the calibration,” Kevin told himself, “Even if you had a power source, and a watch battery sure as hell won't do it, how would you focus the chronotons to do their thing? And how would you even target the point in time where you'd come out at?”

Kevin sighed. He'd been thinking about it for hours, and as it was usually dark by five o'clock at that time of year, he decided to look for something with his telescope. Pushing aside the pile of notes sitting on the desk, he then pulled his coat on, and opened is window to crawl out onto the roof. He carefully removed the cover from the telescope, then put his eye to the viewfinder. There was a soft hum as the high-dollar, powered apparatus came online, and the Kokujonian enhancements activated.

“Nice,” Kevin smiled. “Guess it helps, when your best friend is an alien!”

As if on queue, a small explosion of pink berries and green, minty leaves went off at the windowsill, and Bradley Biggle appeared out of the distortion.

Kevin flinched.

“Sorry,” Bradley offered.

“How's your head?” Kevin asked.

“Better, now,” Bradley nodded, “I guess whatever was blowing chronoton radiation all over town must be offline, or at least shielded. That, or I'm far enough away from it. So, what'cha lookin' at?”

“Nothing yet, just waiting for the 'scope to warm up.” Kevin checked it again, then looked at Bradley. “No costume?”

“Keepin' a low profile,” Bradley shrugged. “So, what'cha gonna look for tonight?”

“I dunno,” Kevin sighed, “There's no meteor showers due, no planets up yet. I just need to think about something else, I guess.” He rubbed his cold hands and blew into them. “I need some gloves! Don't you get cold, Bradley?”

“Only if the temperature reaches 200 Kelvins,” Bradley shrugged. [-100F / -73C]

Kevin grinned and went back in to find his gloves. He rooted around for a while, even looking under his bed. Bradley glanced over his shoulder into the room, still sitting on the large awning. “They're right where you left them, the red ones. By the scanner at the computer desk!”

“Oh!” Kevin exclaimed, “That's where they went. Last time I saw these, I was over at-”

Bradley then made a small groan, covering his face and bowing his head. He whimpered as Kevin approached the window.

“What's wrong?” Kevin asked, pulling his left glove on.

“Headache,” Bradley whined. Then he looked sharply at Kevin. “When was the last time you wore those?”

“I dunno, I think the other day? Craig wanted to know if I'd copied that _**Harry Potter**_ DVD for him, so I took it over there. Have you seen that blue rock Tweek got him for Christmas? It's really cool! It's like blue quartz, or something.” Kevin then covered his own mouth. “Don't say anything! Craig told me not to tell anybody about it!”

“BLUE ROCK?!” Bradley gasped, gritting his teeth as he grabbed Kevin's wrist. He stared at the red gloves, his headache getting worse. “Did you handle it?” He sneezed a few times.

“Yeah, he let me hold it, for like two seconds, before he put it back in the glass case that he keeps covered with his hat,” Kevin nodded, “Why?”

“You still got that hunk of galena that we got from the field trip to the lead mine last year?” Bradley asked.

“Yeah, why?” Kevin asked, as he grabbed it from the shelf. As he held it in his hands, Bradley's face softened.

“Thought so,” Bradley raised an eyebrow. “Lead blocks weak chronoton fields!”

“WHAT?!” Kevin exclaimed.

“That isn't blue quartz that Craig's got,” Bradley surmised, “It's a chunk of cobalt-54!”

“There's no such thing?” Kevin reminded him. Then it dawned on him. “OH! Craig said it was a meteorite, yeah! So it didn't come from Earth!”

“Now I know where the headaches are coming from,” Bradley nodded. “Keep rubbing that galena, would you? It'll get rid of the residual chronotons on your gloves!”

“Shit!” Kevin blurted, “What if I-”

“There's not enough to hurt anything, but for my head, and _you're_ human. You're safe.”

“But what about Craig?” Kevin wondered, “Wouldn't he be soaking up chronotons by having that rock in his room?”

“Good point,” Bradley agreed.

“So what's that gonna do to him?” Kevin had to ask.

“If it _is_ 54, then just sitting there, not much. The only thing that could happen would be a short time-slip, depending on whether he's near anything else that got exposed to chronoton radiation. See, if you soak an object in that stuff, and it builds up enough particles, the same thing, in the past, can start to gain chronotons, too.”

“So, my gloves, like, these gloves, last year, might have chronotons on them?” Kevin gasped.

“Yes, but the chronotons in the past will vanish, too, when these do,” Bradley nodded. “But I'm more bothered with Craig having a Cobalt-54 rock. Where the hell did he get a meteorite of it? It doesn't exist on Earth!”

“Korx, I mean, Keith, gave it to Tweek, and Tweek gave it to Craig for Christmas,” Kevin answered, “But don't tell Craig I told! He'll kick my ass!”

“Korx,” Bradley nodded again, biting his lower lip. “Just what I needed, Futurists again. I was hoping he'd go home.”

“Why?” Kevin wondered, “He's a nice kid? Well, 'they' – I guess Korx isn't really a boy, he said?”

“He's a eunuch drone,” Bradley agreed, “Humanity probably got that idea from the Halkans.”

“Who?” Kevin asked.

“The Halkans, from _**Mirror, Mirror**_ ,” Bradley replied, “Where do you think the _**Trek**_ writers get their ideas?”

“Aliens?”

Bradley nodded. “I'm not the only one, you know.”

“Figures,” Kevin agreed, as they got down to working with the telescope, looking at various stars. “The red shifts are still all wrong,” Kevin pointed out again.

Bradley agreed. “Time doesn't work in South Park, and now that I know about that meteorite of Craig's, I think I know why. You said Korx gave it to him?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, there's been no meteor strikes here, according to my Kukojonian database. So that means, the thing had to have come from the future,” Bradley explained, “Where it's building up a steady supply of chronotons, which are leaking back into the past.” Bradley thought about it some more.

“So,” Kevin cut in, “If the chronotons from the future leak back into the past, then wherever that meteor crashed must be a real mess of them, right?”

“It would form an incredibly weak spot in the Space-Time Continuum,” Bradley nodded again. He snapped his fingers. “Probably out on 285, where the Futurists first came through!”

“You think that's where the meteor hit? _Will_ hit?” Kevin wondered.

“It's a safe bet,” Bradley agreed, “Because it's not that easy to tear a hole in time. Research into temporal tampering is illegal, where I come from, you know.” _Not to mention how much trouble I'm gonna be in, if I'm the reason that the humans in the future were able to do it!_

“Wouldn't it be cool, to be able to time travel?” Kevin sighed, peering through his telescope. “This is sorta like that. I mean, the light we're seeing from these stars left them years ago. So this is kinda like looking into the past.”

“It's banned for a reason,” Bradley told him.

“Didn't you say you say that those weird elements were common where you come from?” Kevin reminded him.

“They can be formed by planetary collisions, which is what happened to my homeworld,” Bradley nodded. “But when the locals find the stuff, they usually throw it down a black hole, to get rid of it.”

The boys looked at a few stars for a while, until Kevin began to shiver and they went inside.

“What's all this?” Bradley asked, looking at the sketches and sheets of notes on Kevin's desk. His eyebrow went up.

“I, uhm, I...well, I just thought,” Kevin ran a hand through his black hair, “Since we were talking about chronotons, and-”

“Kev, this _isn't_ a good idea,” Bradley warned him, “I mean, this isn't like modifying your telescope with my-”

“I wasn't going to ask for help,” Kevin interrupted. “Besides, even if I could figure out how to power the thing, other than a watch battery, I dunno how you'd calibrate it so you could land in the time you wanted.”

“It's like jumping dimensions,” Bradley explained, “You just have to watch where you get off. Kinda like the signs on a highway off-ramp.”

“Like the time you told me about, when you busted up Cthulhu?” Kevin grinned.

“Well, I just plugged a hole that BP Oil made,” Bradley shrugged. “That was inter-dimensional travel, not time travel.”

Just then, Kevin seemed to realize something. “You couldn't time-travel, could you? The chronotons would really hurt you?”

Bradley nodded. “Which is why I'm so worried about what's happening in this town. I think it might be why my birth parents sent me here,” Bradley pondered it, reading over Kevin's notes again. “Like I said, it seems like twenty years or so have passed, but it's like we've been in the fourth grade all that time.”

Kevin looked confused, so Bradley didn't try and explain it further.

“The thing is,” Bradley decided, “If the chronoton buildup gets much worse here, I'm gonna have to leave.” Bradley gave Kevin a hard look. “Kev, I think that something is altering time in South Park.”

“Whoa!” Kevin breathed, “Really?” He blinked. Then he looked at his notes. “I guess you wouldn't notice it, though, if time changed? You'd change right along with it?”

“In most cases,” Bradley agreed, picking up a pencil and absentmindedly correcting a few things that Kevin had written out. “But,” he added, “If you were somehow protected, immune to distortions, then you might end up with mixed memories of what was, and what's new.” _And he's only made minor errors in this theory, too! Dumbass! What are you doing? Correcting his notes? This is the diagram for a temporal phase discriminator!_

Bradley made to scribble some things out, but too late – Kevin has already seen the corrections over his shoulder.

“But how do you protect yourself from _time_?” Kevin wondered, “What kinda shield would work for _that_?”

Bradley grinned at him. “You'll figure it out. Eventually!”

“Thanks,” Kevin muttered. “How's your head?”

“Better,” Bradley replied, “Thanks.”

“Of all the people, Keith had to end up with Kyle,” Kevin sighed. “I hope him and Stan don't get Keith killed, or something!”

“You're still not over Somalia yet, are you?” Bradley laughed.

“NO!” Kevin declared loudly.

“It _is_ odd,” Bradley nodded, “That Keith gave that rock to Tweek, who gave it to Craig. And they all seem pretty chummy lately.”

“Connected?” Kevin asked.

“Maybe,” Bradley agreed. “You hear why they were all absent today?”

“Not yet,” Kevin shrugged. “I figured Douglas would find out, and call me. Or maybe Clyde. He _did_ seem kinda freaked out, didn't he?”

“He was freaked out about bad dreams, and then Jimmy mentioned some things that Kenny said,” Bradley recalled, “Things that Kenny was right about.”

“Lucky guesses?” Kevin mused.

“In this town, I wouldn't count on it,” Bradley shook his head. “But all I know about Kenny, outta the ordinary, is that he's Mysterion – and that someone's been filling in for him since he broke his leg.”

“It's just fucked up, about his dad,” Kevin sighed, looking back at his corrected sketches and notes and grinning. “But you know, he seems like he's got smarter lately?”

Bradley moved to stare out the window again. “When Cthulhu was attacking, Kenny got between him and everyone else. He challenged him. He thought the message from my dad was for him. He said something about one Immortal taking out another one. I mean, shit! He called Cthulhu a pussy! That monster could have smashed him like a bug!”

“If it wasn't for him, you'd have never figured out who you were,” Kevin reminded him.

“True,” Bradley agreed, “But what drives a kid like Kenny to stand up to an immortal dark god? An Old One? No, there's something wrong there. Just like there's something wrong here. Those Futurists didn't pick South Park at random, and Korx – Keith – had to have brought that rock back for a reason. We just have to figure out what it is!”

“Mint Berry Crunch on the case?” Kevin smiled.

“I think I need a new name,” Bradley shrugged, “And a new costume. Maybe Cartman was right about that part?”

“Who cares what _he_ thinks?” Kevin sneered, picking up his light saber.

“Be careful where you wave that thing!” Bradley flinched, “There's Kokujonian laser emitters in there, remember?”

Kevin blinked. “Strong enough to melt lead?”

“What'r you thinking?” Bradley smiled back at him.

“Maybe a lead-lined helmet, kinda like Magneto's, would help with the headaches? You know, in case Keith spills some more chronotons?”

“It's a good idea, Kev, but other than headaches, I've got no way to tell when something fishy is going on with the Timeline,” Bradley told him seriously, his brow furrowing as he stared at the chunk of lead ore.

“Thing is, how would we know, if it was?” Kevin asked. “If something changed, we'd change right along with it. And that'd suck!” He declared, looking back at his notes.

“Maybe,” Bradley wondered, “Unless some stuff changed for the better. With everything that's been happening in this town lately, I'm beginning to wonder if Korx, I mean – Keith – showing up, didn't have something to do with it?”

“So how do you know about all this stuff, anyways?” Kevin wondered, “Was it something you learned, that time you headed back to your homeworld, after the Cthulhu thing?”

Bradley nodded. “You have no idea, Kev. Once you get out into space, things start to get really crazy. Like I said, where do you think sci-fi writers get their ideas? Wormholes, spatial anomalies, and all that junk? It's all real. It really makes you appreciate junior high math, lemme tell ya!” Bradley laughed. “Calculus in five dimensions isn't much fun!”

“You think Keith came back to change something?” Kevin then asked.

“I dunno, I heard it was a real disaster, the first time the Time Refugees showed up,” Bradley replied. “The people here tried to change things for the future, and made them disappear, right? I dunno, I had to get outta town.”

“Well, this last time, he – they – showed up for a party, and to just buy donuts to go,” Kevin shrugged. “How would that change things?”

“Every time you travel in time, you end up blowing chronotons around everywhere,” Bradley reminded him, “Build up a big enough cloud of them, and things you didn't intend to happen – do!” He thought about it some more, pacing around the room. “Just by buying a box of donuts, Korx could have set off changes here. Anything from something minor, to something disastrous. I don't know, Kev, it just seems that ever since I came back, after the Cthulhu thing, stuff in this town just isn't right!”

“When was it ever right?” Kevin laughed.

“Good point,” Bradley agreed, “Like that time Barbara Streisand turned into that Mecha-Godzilla thing and destroyed most of South Park!”

Kevin blinked at him. “Yeah, shame about Pip and -” Kevin froze. He stared at Bradley, his mouth still open.

“She killed Pip,” Bradley said in a low voice.

“But Pip just flew off to London, or somewhere, with Trent Boyette?” Kevin reminded him.

“Did they?” Bradley replied, “Wasn't Trent Boyette sent off to juvie when he was like, four years old?”

“No, when he was four, he was gonna start a fire at school, but Kyle kicked him in the nuts, and-”

“Kyyyyyle,” Bradley drawled the name, “Interesting.”

“What do you mean he got sent to Juvie?” Kevin wondered. “After he got outta the hospital, I mean, he was just kinda...there? He didn't do much. Kinda like a prop, I guess? Well, that, and he really got into school band and choir. I always thought he was a nice kid.”

“Then why do I suddenly remember things that you don't?” Bradley asked, “You got any yearbooks?”

Kevin did, and when they looked in them, there was Trent Boyette. Pip Pirrup and Terrance Mephesto were also there.

“Maybe it has something to do with your chronoton-induced headaches, or a power that you don't know you have?” Kevin theorized.

“I'm not Waverider*,” Bradley shook his head, “Or Superman. I'm allergic to all this shit, remember? If time shifted, _I_ should shift right along with it. This makes no sense, Kev.”

“Actually, it does,” A man's voice spoke up, making both boys yelp and flinch. Bradley dropped into a defensive crouch, pushing Kevin behind himself with his other arm. Bradley's face contorted in pain as the migraine began to hit him.

“Who the hell are you?” Kevin demanded of the man, “And how did you get in here?”

But as the man ran a hand through his black hair, both boy noticed his sky blue jacket, as he tugged the long sleeve down over his left hand.

“Leave it alone, Bradley,” the man warned him, “You're messing around in areas you ought not to mess around in!”

“And just how do you know that?” Bradley snapped, as the room began to fill the scent of mint, and Bradley's hands began glow pink. He was beginning to sweat, and he whimpered once.

“Because _I_ remember having this conversation with _me,_ when I was your age,” The man replied, looking sharply at Bradley. “Things are just as they need to be. Leave it ALONE!” He repeated, as he backed towards the door, opened it, stepped out into the hall, and slammed the door behind him.

Bradley cried out in pain, collapsing on the floor in the fetal position, holding his head.

Kevin bolted out into the hall, but there was no one there.

“Oh my God! Was _that_ … who I think it was?” Kevin gasped, turning to dash back into his bedroom. “BRADLEY!” He yelled, giving the now-unconscious boy a shake. “Bradley! Are you OK?”

*

“'Bradley are you OK',” the man in the sky blue jacket told himself, as the unnameable, colored distortions surrounding him cleared up, and he found himself standing in that same hallway, just outside of that same bedroom door, some decades later. “Yes, he'll be OK. He _is_ OK.”

“So how did it go?” The bald child sitting on the bed asked, as the man walked in.

“Just like I remember it. Just like you said it would be.”

“It's a closed causality loop now,” the bald child nodded.

“You OK?” The man asked.

“Yeah. So, was I … l-living with Kyle then?”

“Yes, Korx. But you're using another name.”

“I...I'm afraid of him, Mr. Stoley,” Korx admitted. “Wh-what if he … hurts me?”

“Kyle's a good kid, Korx. He wouldn't do that.”

“B-but he's... he's -”

“I know, he's Eclipse,” Kevin Stoley, the adult, replied. He checked his discriminator. He then checked the one that Korx wore.

“I told him that metahumans like him should be killed,” Korx sighed, as the man adjusted Korx's discriminator.

“K.,” the man shorted the child's name, “If there's any boy in South Park who'll always do the right thing, it's Kyle Broflovski. Go to him.” He paused. “I think you _have_ to go to him.”

“This would be a lot easier if we could just cut right to the chase, sir,” Korx sighed.

“In time, my little friend, in _time_.”

He then helped the child into a smaller sky blue jacket, and handed him a blue knit cap with a yellow poofball on top. He checked the child's snow boots, then gave him a pair of red mittens.

“This was _his_ hat,” Korx sniffled.

“I know, and I think _he'd_ want you to have it. Or he _will_. Buck up, Korx. It's a New Year's party at Tweek's place. It'll be fun!”

“Thanks for the jacket, and stuff, sir,” Korx took his leave of the man.

“I always was a pack rat,” Kevin smiled, hugging him. “Now, off you go!”

 _When I see him again, in a few minutes, he'll be twelve years old,_ Korx reminded himself, as he activated the discriminator, vanishing into a swirl of colors.

When the colors cleared, Korx just stood there, outside of _**Tweak Bros. Coffee Shoppe**_ , staring through the window at the party.

He didn't want to go in.

It was cold outside, though, and the wind was picking up. And as Korx didn't like the cold, he pushed the door open and went inside. A gust of cold air announced his arrival, and everyone looked up at him.

“The hell are _you_ doing here, Korx?” Kenny gasped, as both he and Kyle tensed up as if to attack.

**END this chapter**

Notes: *Waverider – an obscure DC Comics (book) character from the early 90's. Waverider was a temporal superbeing. The name was also used for the time-ship in the TV series “Legends of Tomorrow”.

At the end of this chapter, Korx lands in chapter 22, “Strangers in a Strange Land,” at Tweek's New Year's party. Now you know where he came in from! He's also wearing little Kevin's jacket and red mittens, which Kevin will be wearing at that same party. Korx is wearing Craig's old hat in Ch. 22, which adult Kevin Stoley had saved.

 


	30. Once? in a Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days go by as Kenny takes note of the things that have changed, and the things that haven't. This chapter jumps to the end of seventh grade, into summer, and takes on more of sci-fi theme at the end of this chapter.  
> Keith/Korx does a bit more meddling, deciding that it's important that he "take out some insurance" on his future, but at something of a high cost.  
> Sorry it's been a while since the last update!  
> As a refresher, Keith has stolen the main power core from the future time machine, and hidden it with Tweek in the 'present', thus making any more interference from the future (with only a couple of exceptions) impossible. Present-Eric Cartman remains in juvenile detention, and isn't really a factor anymore, while Future-Cartman has been arrested by an older Eclipse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song: “Once In A Lifetime” by The Talking Heads  
> Reminder and possible pronoun warning: Korx the Time Refugee has taken on the fake identity of Keith Cook, in order to be adopted by Kyle's family. While Keith is physically an agender drone with XY genes, they have decided to present as a boy for the sake of their friends. Keith/Korx, as stated, doesn't care about pronouns or fashion vs. gender, and has stated that “he” is OK with that identity while “playing a boy” at this point in the Timeline. Keith also doesn't care if the chronicler of this tale slips up with his pronouns, either!  
> There are no sex scenes, as the boys are still 12, but some fooling around is hinted at. It's Creek and Bunny themed, after all. The title of this chapter was changed a few days after posting, when I noticed my error that a lovely reader so kindly pointed out! Thanks.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**30**

**Once? In a Lifetime**

*****

 

At the bus stop that next morning, four boys were silent as they stood there in the snow, waiting. Having missed the previous day of school, one would have thought that they were all rested.

They were not.

Normally, there would have been playful, even insulting, banter going on. Usually, this would have started with the boy in the green ushanka hat, and the fat boy in a red coat with a sky blue hat.

It didn't, as the fat boy in the sky blue hat wasn't there.

In his place stood a slender child, wearing a bright yellow boy's jacket and high, faux-fur lined, brown suede girls' winter boots. Unlike the rest usually were, this child was unusually quiet.

They wore a yellow poofball hat.

'They', as the child did not conform to the typical, binary gender norms.

“You wore a hat?” Stan asked Kyle.

“Yeah, it's stupid, worrying about your hair when your ears are cold,” Kyle replied.

“You're buzzing it off pretty short lately,” Kenny observed, leaning on his crutches and having wiggled his upper lip out from under his tight brown scarf.

“So?”

“You only do that when you're having an identity crisis, Kyle,” Kenny reminded him. “Is _he_ giving you a hard time?”

“Can we not talk about _him_?” Stan cut in.

“Him-who?” Keith asked, tugging at the flaps of their blue chullo hat.

“The _Other_ , as I call him,” Kenny answered. “That voice in your head that tells you … maybe, I dunno, that you're-”

“-A total piece of shit,” Stan interrupted, looking away and down the street.

“Hang on, you hear him, too?” Kyle gasped, unconsciously putting his green-mittened hand on Stan's shoulder.

“Just once, the other night,” Stan replied, “And he wasn't such a nice guy. Thing is, he said he was _me_.” Stan paused for a moment. “He said he was the part of me that was Toolshed?” Stan more asked, than explained, “How can _he_ be _me_?”

“Hold on?!” Kenny gasped, “How can you have this _other,_ if you're just-”

“-Not a metahuman, you mean?” Stan interrupted, “Not an Immortal? I dunno. But with the way that Butters talks to himself sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, I'd bet he's got the same problem.”

The boys were quiet for a bit. “Well, Ken?” Kyle asked, almost shyly.

“He does,” Kenny confirmed, “Chaos is his Other. And I'd appreciate it, if you didn't mention it to him.” He looked back to Stan. “So, you believe me now? You remember me dying?”

“Every time,” Stan sniffled, “But especially the time that we thought Kyle was gonna die of kidney failure, and a piano fell on you!” Stan's voice cracked. He looked away. “I'm sorry, Kenny!” He wiped his sleeve over his face. “God, how could I have been such a -”

“-clod?” Kenny grinned at him, his blue eyes sparkling. Stan gasped. “Don't feel so bad, no one ever knew.” He poked Kyle with a crutch. “And?” He wheedled, as his gap-tooth smile with a missing first molar assured Stan that all was forgiven. Stan smiled back.

“Well, given that I've got … an almost infinite number of Kyles – rather, Eclipses – to deal with, it makes sense that my other voice would just be … me? Some other Kyle, at some other point in time,” Kyle put in.

“Is it like that with Mysterion?” Stan wondered.

“You have NO idea,” Kenny sighed, propping an elbow up on Keith's shoulder to relieve himself off the crutches.

Stan looked over at Keith, formerly Korx. “You're pretty quiet this morning, K.?”

“I'm not sure what to do anymore,” Keith admitted. “I'm here, but I'm lost.” He paused. “And I'm scared.”

“YOU?!” Kenny blurted, nearly toppling over as Keith grabbed him, “How do you think _**I**_ feel? Fuckin' _nothing_ is like it should be now!”

“I can't begin to imagine,” Keith replied. “I never meant for any of this to happen, K.,” they sighed. “Hell, it wasn't my idea to come here, _now_ , to begin with.”

“Well, whose idea _was_ it?” Kyle asked.

“I don't think I should tell you, K.,” Keith looked away, “Things are already enough of a mess, the way they are.”

“Well, whose fault is _**that**_?” Kenny rolled his eyes.

“Probably Kevin Stoley's, if he invented the damn things,” Kyle interjected, poking his own wristwatch, and looking as if he wasn't sure who'd said it. “Sorry! Wrong Kyle, there!”

“S'OK, there, K.,” Kenny grinned.

“Guys, just – don't,” Stan interrupted, holding up his hands, “This is confusing enough without all you three being just 'K.'!”

Stan still wore red mittens.

For some reason, those mittens caught Stan's attention, as if reminding him. “You had red mittens when you first came to the New Year's party, Keith,” Stan reminded Keith, “And if I remember, a sky blue coat like Kevin Stoley's?”

“I like yellow and dark blue better,” Keith shrugged.

“What does it matter, what color his gloves are?” Kyle asked.

“I notice things like that,” Stan shrugged, “I didn't mean anything by it,” he added quickly, but he did give Keith a long look.

He gave his hat a longer look.

“Look familiar?” The Other asked, in Stan's head, for the first time since 'his' initial introduction.

Stan gasped.

“Uninvited guest?” Kenny asked, tapping his own forehead.

“What the fuck did those shots you gave me, _do_ to me, Keith?” Stan exclaimed.

“What?” Kyle wondered, “That was for-”

“It wasn't for radiation poisoning, _was_ it?” Stan demanded.

“No,” Keith confessed. “It was for...”

“Yeah?” Stan sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I saturated your body with future chronoton particles, so they could migrate backwards into your current past,” Keith admitted.

“Why the FUCK would you do THAT?!” Stan blurted, as the bus pulled up, with Miss Crabtree screeching that they were late.

“Well whose fault is that?” Kyle mumbled.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY, KID?” She screeched.

“I say I think you'd nice in a new, furry hat, Miss,” Kyle replied.

“Oh, you think?” Miss Crabtree smiled back, as the bus peeled out, nearly throwing the boys to the floor.

“I did it to bring you into the group, Stan,” Keith whispered to Stan, as they took seats behind Kevin Stoley and those other guys, who were busy chattering about something for science class. “So you'd not be so isolated from your friends.”

“I think I understand,” Kyle nodded, from his place in the seat behind them. “Stan was the only one with no knowledge of the parallel timelines, or the changes we were making, right? He was left out, and being manipulated right along with the whole world.” Kyle sighed. “It just didn't seem right, without Stan.” He pressed his cheek against the cold glass of the bus window. “And because I couldn't live with myself, any of myselves, knowing what I was – or could do – to Stan, without him even knowing it.”

“Well, uhh, boy, Stan,” Butters cut in, “You're sure gonna have a hard time, uhm, knowin' if you're even comin' or goin',” Butters warned him.

“What do you mean?” Stan asked.

“Well, like that time that Kyle dragged your drunk ass home from Stark's Pond, when you fell in and almost drowned, then almost froze to death?” Butters informed him.

“B-but that never happened?” Stan gasped.

“Not anymore,” Butters grinned.

“See what we mean?” Kenny sighed.

“Wait a minute,” Stan shook his head, holding up his hands with his eyes clenched shut.

*

_But as Stan touched him, a memory flashed through Kyle's mind: Stan had been drinking. A lot._

_He'd just gotten done throwing up when Kyle had arrived at Stark's Pond, at the dock, as Stan had called him. He'd been babbling incoherently, and it had taken Kyle several minutes to figure out where he was. Stan and Wendy had had another argument, and Stan hadn't taken it well. He was too drunk to even stand up when Kyle had arrived, and the vomiting had been spectacular._

“ _Stan, it's cold out here,” Kyle suddenly remembered telling him, “C'mon, we gotta get you home.”_

 _Stan had slurred some kind of reply at him, and then just rolled over on the dock. Kyle remembered fearing that Stan would roll off into the freezing water, or at the very least, pass out on the dock and freeze to death_.

*

“It's like that book, The Gunslinger, and Jake,” Butters told him. “Be careful, ask someone else, or it'll drive you nuts when you see what was-wasn't-was-wasn't-was!”

“I hated that movie,” Kyle snorted.

“It's a movie?” Kenny exclaimed.

“Oh, spoilers,” Kyle groaned, “Sorry, that must'a been older-Kyle!”

All around the five of them, the usual school bus chatter went on and on. No one seemed to even notice that the four boys had even gotten on board.

“So, you have to have some way to capture the neutrinos...”  
“Well, you could use the rubindium crystal from your telescope, since if you reverse...”  
“So I was thinking, I should probably cover for Mysterion this weekend...”  
“Can I go?”  
“I think you need a new persona, and a mask, if you're gonna use those freeze cannons. Wonder Tweek is pretty obvious.”  
“Wh-whut about W-w-w-won...wuuuuun...”  
“-Wonder?”  
“Thanks! Yeah! W-wonder STORM?!”  
“I like 'Torque Wrench!”  
“CRAIG!”

“It's like we're separate from them all, now?” Stan whispered.

In the seat across the aisle, Kevin Stoley was still theorizing about how to collect neutrinos.

“Just leave it,” Keith muttered.

In the seats two rows back, Craig and those guys were divvying up day-old pastry from a large bag on Tweek's lap as they talked 'superheroes'.

“ARGH! Watch it, now!” Tweek squeaked, as Craig stuck his hand into the bag.

“It's almost my birthday!” Craig leered at him, and Tweek blushed.

Stan pinched the bridge of his own nose.

“But this time, it's not Jake Chambers,” he sighed, “It's _Tweek_ , isn't it?”

Keith only nodded. They said nothing at all.

“So what do we do now?” Kenny asked. “I'm all outta ideas, guys, and I don't think I can do this again.” He reached over and took Butters' hand.

Kyle shrugged too.

“Well, gosh? You mean _you_ don't know?” Butters asked Kyle, “Can't you ask the Kyle that's sixteen?”

“I don't think he'll tell me,” Kyle shrugged, “But that movie sucked balls!” He covered his mouth in surprise.

“Probably for the best,” Keith put in.

“So what do we do?” Stan echoed Kenny.

“Nothing,” Keith finally decided.

The other four of them just stared at him for a moment.

“Shit!” Keith then hissed. “I can't risk it. I can't do that to him again.”

Then they got up, pulling the future first aid kit from their backpack. They pulled off the yellow poofball hat and handed it to Kenny. Keith went down the aisle a few steps, came up behind Clyde, and pressed the hypo-device to Clyde's neck with a loud hiss.

Clyde flinched, tossing his heavily frosted donut, which stuck right on Token's face.

“HEY, now!” Token exclaimed.

“The _fuck_ was that?” Clyde gasped, rubbing his neck. “That hurt!” He teared up.

“Vanilla bean frosting on African American?” Craig snickered.

“It's pretty damn good!” Token ran his tongue around through the donut hole, which was suddenly even more hilarious.

“Just changing the future, Clyde,” Keith sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve, then staring at the near-empty hypo. “No, make that 'insuring' it.”

“Y-you mean I... I was g-gonna … and y-you …?” Clyde fumbled, his bottom lip quivering. Seeing this, Craig and Token moved in like a support team, as Jimmy secured Tweek.

“He w-was gonna relapse?” Jimmy asked.

“Not anymore,” Keith assured them, ruffling Clyde's thick, brown hair. “I need you Clyde. Well, that whole _pack_ of Donovans, someday, you know?”

*

“ _Kenny's convinced that you guys are going to get hurt in that car, Craig,” Kyle repeated._

“ _I'd kill myself before I hurt Tweek!” Craig retorted, but his voice was all wrong. The other three boys noticed it, too, as the jingle bells on the door jingled again_

“ _Clyde, are you ready to go?” Roger Donovan asked, as he walked in with Clyde's little sister. “I think I like your truck! That new clutch is tight!”_

_But when Kyle looked back to his friends at the counter, he gasped._

_Craig was putting Clyde's blue poofball hat on Clyde's head. Clyde was bald, and he was thin. But as Kyle stared at him, blinking only once, he saw that in that blink, Clyde's head was now covered in thick, shiny, brown hair._

“ _Don't forget your hat!” Craig laughed, giving the somewhat stout boy an elbow to the ribs._

“ _Yeah, where's your old hat?” Clyde laughed, “You've worn it for like, fifteen years!”_

_Tweek was clearing up the counter, and then after Craig and Clyde manhandled one another for a bit, Tweek walked them to the door. They were both taller than Clyde, but Clyde was stouter, healthier. His letter jacket was already covered in award patches._

_As Kyle's eyes scanned the somewhat crowded shoppe, he caught site of the little blond boy in the dull green jacket again. He was seated in a booth with a man and woman, laughing, with cream cheese frosting all over his face. The resemblance to Tweek was uncanny. 'Where did all these people come from?'_

_But something didn't look right, and it wasn't just the little boy that, so far, only Kyle had seen. It wasn't Clyde either, as Kyle swore that he remembered a sickly, bald boy in his first cancer relapse, his body ravaged by chemo again._

_He remembered vanilla bean frosting all over Token's face, on the school bus, some morning four years before._

_The Christmas lights around the windows looked wrong. Thin trails of light stretched behind each bulb, the way they did when you squinted at them, or crossed your eyes. The edges of Kyle's vision were fuzzy as well, and the moving people seemed to be leaving vapor trails of faint afterimage behind them._

“ _Thanks for keeping the heat up in here, Tweek,” Mr Donovan said, handing Tweek a five dollar bill. “He needs to get out once in a while, and stop moping about that burnt out clutch in the Ranger! I'm not mad.”_

“ _Well, you know how he gets, sir!” Craig laughed. So did Tweek._

_Kyle just stood there and listened, waiting for the vapor trails of the lights – which as he knew – would soon fade, and he would slide back four years hence._

“ _I'm here again,” Kyle realized, “The coffee shoppe. That night I saw Teddy. The night I saw the future for the first time!”_

“ _You're lookin' kinda sick, Bro?” Keith asked, taking Kyle's arm, “C'mon, you know how Mom gets!”_

_Keith was wearing a yellow poofball hat on his permanently bald head._

_'It's changed again!” Kyle gasped, feeling a bit dizzy, as little Teddy Hastings laughed with his family. [chapter 13, 'Coffee Shoppe' snippet, altered]_

*

Clyde was crying.

As Keith went back to his bus seat, Tweek followed him over. “Last one?” The blond boy offered the bag. “Peanut butter crème filled with milk chocolate frosting?”

“You know what I like,” Keith smiled wanly.

“Always did,” Tweek smiled, as he went back to sit with Craig.

Clyde was laughing through happy tears as he wiped white frosting off Token's face.

“ _Now_ we've done enough,” Keith explained. “ _I've_ done enough. _Kenny's_ done enough. Now we just let the days go by.”

“Into the blue again?” Kenny asked.

“Just like the song says,” Craig supplied, having overheard them. “Thanks!” He mouthed the word to Keith. He then pulled out his phone and punched up his 80's playlist:

“ _ **And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile! And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife, and you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?”**_

*

And so the days did indeed go by.

Craig turned thirteen that January, and had a party at Whistlin' Willie's, as usual. It was at that party, that all doubt of whether they were faking their relationship or not, was removed. Tweek's first present for Craig was a very serious public kiss, which stunned half of the restaurant into silence, and caused the other half to erupt in applause. Mr. Tucker almost fainted.

Big Gay Al did.

No one ever found out what was in the second small box, which made Craig blush furiously.

Kenny's leg healed, a bit sooner than expected, and physical therapy was a breeze for him. Kenny suspected some tampering from either Kyle, Keith, or both, but he said nothing. He was just happy to be up and walking again. There was the slight issue of lingering constipation from the pain meds, but Nurse Christina was more than happy to make a house call and treat Kenny for it. _Now I know what Clyde goes through twice a year,_ Kenny thought.

But the best thing about having that annoying cast off wasn't that he could learn to walk again. It wasn't that he wouldn't be dependent on others. It wasn't that he could get to be Mysterion again, and hopefully quiet The Other in his mind.

The day that Kenny's cast off, Craig Tucker invited him over to help him start building that new bike.

“ _I had to work. Forget what, Craig?” Kenny wondered, and why Craig was even calling him. It wasn't as if they were that close._

“ _We were going to start working on your bike tonight, ya fuckin' Alzheimer's patient!” Craig's warbling, alto voice replied, realizing that he and Craig were now about how old Karen was. The Karen he'd left behind, that was..._

“ _Yeah, I'm sorry, Dude,” Kenny apologized._

“ _Well, bring it over, if you want to. I'll be out here trying to teach Tweek how to turn a wrench, with Red Racer!” Craig said, ending the call._

Oddly enough, the thought of rebuilding a custom bicycle with Craig Tucker, which they'd sworn to do the night that Kenny had first leaped back in time, nearly made Kenny cry.

It also reminded him of his fear of dying, after the leap back. And he was also happy to have not died again lately! After all, he still didn't know what might happen if he died.

There was an occasional news story about random vigilantes at work in the town, but now no one wondered who Mysterion was. They all wondered who Zorro was, which the boys found hilarious, in that it was painfully obvious.

 _ **Sodosopa**_ was finished, and with said vigilantes' help, the drug problem was solved. For a low-income project, it turned out surprisingly nice – and maintained a very low crime rate. It was rumored that on nights when the moon was full, that two slim figures in dark costumes could be seen standing atop the buildings, watching. Waiting.

On rare occasion, razor sharp question marks and equally deadly ninja stars would be found here and there, some of them bloody.

Mrs. McCormick and Mrs. Stotch were released from their respective rehabs, and while Carol went back home to her children, Linda insisted that the Strongly Principled Couple stay on at her home as boarders with Aaron Hagen.

Butters was delighted by this, as his mother's behaviour seemed to have taken a turn for the better. Chances were, he knew, that with three extra boarders in the house, that his mother probably wouldn't try and murder him again! Given that, and his relationship with Kenny, Butters' outlook took a sharp turn for the better as well. Professor Chaos, it seemed, had come over to the light side. Butters even got new glasses to help compensate for his bad left eye, and was placed on the non-critical transplant list when a slight case of plain old pinkeye in his good eye nearly blinded him for a couple weeks.

“You know, in the other timelines, you got one of _my_ eyes. Well, the cornea, at least,” Kenny finally told him, feeling ashamed.

“I'd rather have your face be the last thing I _ever_ see, than have you die for my vision,” Butters assured him.

As for the Principal, he surprised everyone near the end of January when he showed up at the Junior High for first period. “All right, everybody listen up! I'm here to inform you that as of today, I will no longer be employed at South Park Elementary!” There was a pause, where some of the students even held their breath. “So, as of right now, I am pleased to inform you all that I will be taking over HERE!”

“WHAT?!” Jimmy squeaked.

Kenny's eyebrow went up.

“You ever watch that old TV show **Boy Meets World** , Valmer? Well, Broflovski's got the Cory-hair, and I'm here to be your Mr. Feeney!” He smirked at them. “You guys think I'm turning my back on you for one second? I plan to follow you lot all the way through college – to make sure you get through it!”

“MY hair?!” Kyle exclaimed. “You did _not_ just-”

“Which is very flattering,” PC Principal added. “Any sentient being would be lucky to have the pleasure of your company, Bro!”

“Oh, God, w-w-we're s-stuck with him!” Jimmy groaned, looking away. “I know, and that's t-two weeks d-dee-deeeee...tention for me!” Jimmy added.

“No, it's not,” PC Principal replied, approaching Jimmy to lean down in front of him. He then slipped a pair of new Oakleys onto Jimmy's face. “I respect you, Dude!”

 _PC Principal wasn't supposed to show up again until high school,_ Kenny thought, recalling how the man had then stepped in, in that aborted future, to encourage and watch over him. _I still wanna know what happened to him, though,_ Kenny recalled from the day that the Principal had carried him to the cafeteria.

A day that now, most likely, wouldn't happen.

But as Keith had suggested, Kenny decided to wait and see.

Clyde Donovan had his usual checkup, and was ruled as “No Evidence of Disease”. In fact, the doctors were at a loss to explain the change in Clyde's test results, as well as his attitude.

“I didn't even cry when they stuck that video camera up my butt!” Clyde declared proudly, “'cause I knew I was OK!”

“That's the problem with you straight guys,” Tweek teased him, “A little camera, and you go all to pieces!”

“Wonderful stuff, that Ribozene-D-8,” Keith had mumbled to himself.

Craig Tucker continued to work on his car, slowly but surely. And while he never mentioned it again, it was clear that he'd begun to believe Kenny. As the tear-down of Red Racer progressed, Craig seemed to be restoring his pride and joy to what they called “bone stock,” meaning “all original”. All of his friends helped with the project, and that included Stan, Kyle, and Kenny. Butters and Keith mainly hung around for moral support and 'gophering'. They would _go-for_ this, or _go-for_ that, when Craig needed it.

Tweek Tweak continued to work for his parents, but it was obvious that things were changing there, too.

Not long after Kenny's cast came off, Richard Tweak was found beaten senseless after closing the shoppe late one night. He'd remained after hours to clean up, much later, in fact, when someone had jumped him outside the back door. Another man was found in a rusty white van behind _**Tweak Brothers**_ , his jaw broken and his skull fractured. And while Richard Tweak eventually came out of the coma, the other man did not. Detective Yates declared it, “Not Mysterion's M.O.,” and was satisfied with the suitcase full of meth that he found in the van. “I'd say it was a … brutalist … of some sort,” Yates had simply shrugged, slipping the bloody Mysterang into his coat pocket.

So, while Mr. Tweak joined Stewart McCormick in the federal penitentiary, Helen and Tweek ran the shoppe. Business was up, as was the overall waistline of South Park. This was largely due to Tweek's idea of expanding the baked goods section, and switching over to a different brand of coffee. Even Dr. Norris couldn't believe the change in the usually nervous boy. Neither could Tweek's cardiologist. He was taken off of most of his medications, and even cleared to play sports again – much to Tweek's chagrin. Still, he and Craig remained inseparable, even when Craig resorted to whining to get Tweek to go out for baseball with him. Tweek gave in, but played in right field – out where the dandelions grow, and nothing ever happens. It wasn't long, either, that Tweek was almost shoving his mother out the door, insisting that she “Get on with it!” in “Finding a life!” Tweek, naturally, spent all of his free time with Craig – usually working on Red Racer.

It was around that time, as well, that Tweek's grandfather died unexpectedly. The old man left the boy everything, including a pristine, black Lincoln LSC coupe.

Craig was in awe.

Kenny wasn't the least bit surprised, even though the car would spend most of its time under a cover in the garage.

As for the other health problems facing some of the boys, Keith's nearly exhausted future first aid kit bore silent witness to those various recoveries. Just as Kenny had predicted, Timmy came through his head surgery and his “Borg Phase” with flying colors. His head went down in size, and while he never gained the use of his legs, his upper body and language skills improved greatly.

“Wonderful stuff, that Alkysine and Lexorin,” Keith had simply shrugged.

Jimmy Valmer also came through his surgery on his femur without a hitch. And while he still had to use crutches, it did improve his mobility. “And I'm n-not dead!” Jimmy proudly declared.

Kyle Broflovski, with a lot of help from Scott Malkinson (and Other-Kyles), learned to control his blood sugar, and eventually got an insulin pump like Scott's. He'd also declined Keith's offer of that “magical” hypo-device. “Save it for someone who can really use it,” Kyle had told his foster brother. And while it took him a while, Kyle seemed to reconcile with 'himself', as many as there were, quite well. He also made the seventh grade basketball team, along with Scott, Bradley, Token, David, Clyde, and the others.

Still, as Eclipse, Kyle also learned to respect his other selves. It took some time, but eventually, the boy learned how to handle being everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere, and even how to shut it completely off at times to avoid spoilers.

As for Korx, their name changed again when the Broflovskis formally adopted them. It was announced at the child's birthday party, which was Kyle's idea upon having found out that, as an agender service Drone, Keith had never had a birthday party before. President Jenner even made an appearance, which rendered Gerald and Sheila stunned. The boys just took it in stride.

Ike couldn't have cared less, as he spent his time with Georgie “Firkle” Smith. There was, for Ike, also plenty of time for adventuring with Teddy, Firkle, Conner, and the others. And just as Kenny had predicted, things between Ike and Kyle soon returned to normal. This also included the fact that Ike was largely unaware of his newest adopted brother, which was fine by Keith.

“You ever wonder what it's like, Bro?” Keith asked Kyle, near the end of the seventh grade.

“What _what_ is like?” Kyle asked in reply, cringing at Keith's adoption of PC Principal's favorite term of endearment. The man was, after all, absolutely fascinated by having a student without gender – much less any bias.

“Having a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?” Keith explained.

“How about just having a friend?” Kyle smiled.

“I might be a Drone, but I'm not dead,” Keith laughed. “Oh well, Stan might get jealous!” He teased.

“Stan's got Wendy,” Kyle reminded him, “And that's all good. He's coming around, finally, I think?”

Keith nodded. “You ever wonder what they do? I mean, like him and her, or Tweek and Craig, when they sleep together?”

“No,” Kyle shrugged, “But I figure they probably don't _just_ snuggle up, kiss a coupl'a times, an' then go to sleep.”

“Kyle, why do they call it 'sleeping together', when you don't actually sleep?” Keith asked.

Both of them laughed at that.

*

For Stan Marsh, however, seventh grade passing by was a little more difficult than it was for the rest. Unlike Butters, who just seemed happy to “go with it”, the more analytical Stan was having a harder time in coming to grips with the idea of an altered Timeline. This was to say nothing, as well, of how he was (failing) to come to grips with the idea of an altered Stan. For him, it was beginning to feel like nothing in his life were actually real anymore. And while Stan still went to work with dad on their successful TV show, earned his own money, and had (thanks to Keith's injection) stopped drinking, he still didn't seem quite happy. Even though he still hung out with his friends, Stan Marsh still wasn't “right”.

“I'm beginning to think that Stan's the one constant in the Universe,” Kyle often pointed out, as they all walked home from school to start their summer vacation.

“So if the future where some bad shit happened to me got changed, then how is it that you guys – and now ME – can still remember it?” Stan repeatedly asked.

“I ask myself that question every day,” Kenny just shrugged.

“You know, I can understand Keith coming back from the future, but finding out that Kyle is a metahuman, and Kenny's an immortal, and Butters is … well … _Butters_ ,” Stan hesitated, giving them all a look around the game table in Kenny's secret lair.

“Thanks,” Butters groaned, “I think?”

“I'd just think that if we'd changed something, I'd forget it,” Stan sighed, “B-because I remember some pretty...pretty bad-”

*

 _Junior High was when it really fell apart. “Hey,” Stan would say, never noticing the longing on Kyle's face – a face that he used to be able to read, and know what was going on before Kyle even had to speak. “Stan?” That unchanged, boyhood voice would call after him in the hallways, most times never even getting a glance back over the shoulder. Even if he did, without the green hat or the high 'Jewfro', Kyle would disappear into the crowd. Stop off at the locker, get a nip from the flask, and head to the next class. Maybe cut up a bit with Bill and Fosse, and that other kid. Not that they were friends, but they could get their hands on booze, and sometimes weed. Pete had the really good weed, and he was always up for something, since Michael and Henrietta had stopped talking to him. It was a long walk home, but the school bus was too noisy. Most times, he'd walk. It didn't really register, that forlorn face he was seeing, pressed up against the dingey bus window. That face that watched him as the bus rolled by. It was winter – hell, it was always winter – but there was warmth in the flask_.

*

As if Kyle knew what Stan were thinking, he said, “Junior High, about now, was when it really fell apart, Stan.”

“THEN WHY DO I STILL REMEMBER IT?!” Stan cried, “Why do I still remember all the awful shit I put you through, Kyle? Shit that I've not even _done_ yet?!”

*

“ _'Sup, dude?”_

“ _What do you want, Mr. Conformist? Marsh, isn't it? I remember you,” Pete greeted him._

“ _Yeah, I hung out with you guys for a while,” Stan admitted._

“ _Well, whatever it is you wanna say, say it, before my folks pack my ass off to juvie until I'm 18.”_

“ _Heard about the drugs,” Stan offered, “Sucks. My folks found out about the booze problem of mine a while back.”_

“ _Fucking sucks,” Pete agreed._

“ _Stan?” Someone called though the packed hallway, as the bell rang._

_Stan ignored that high-pitched voice, but he did glance back once – looking for a green hat._

_No one wore hats anymore._

“ _Stan? Hold up!”_

“ _So, aren't you in my next class?” Stan asked Pete, ignoring that voice._

 _Walking on_.

*

The boys all looked at Keith.

“He's not taking this very well, is he?” Keith asked, which got him 'the look' from the others. “What?!” Keith held out his hands. “That's not gonna happen now!”

“Yeah, you and your damn chronoton particles, thanks a lot, Keith!” Stan sniffled. “I wish you'd all left me outta this mess!”

“Oh, please,” Keith rolled his eyes, “How do you expect to be able to change things, if you don't know what's gonna happen to begin with?”

“ _Seriously_?” Kenny snorted. “Hell, I didn't even know what classes I was in when I got here, thanks to you!”

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do?” Stan asked. “Other than _not_ leaving Kyle just standing in the hallway?”

“Well, for starters, since you're still hanging out with Kyle and us, you're not out getting drunk with Pete, and smoking pot, and dropping acid, and-”

“I get the point!” Stan interrupted, but Keith held up a finger.

“-and jumping naked off of the water tower right into Maple Street. SPLAT! Street pizza,” Keith made a face.

“I never did that?” Stan gasped.

“Pete did. But now he won't,” Keith shrugged, looking back at the map of the town on the table, studying the pattern of all the places where the vigilantes had made various busts.

“Pete won't get naked, or won't jump?” Kenny snickered.

“HEY!” Butters exclaimed.

Stan looked appalled. “How can you joke about THAT, Ken?!”

Kenny shrugged. “Been up there, yeah, it's a long way down. Never got naked up there, though?” He grinned at Butters.

“Keeeeenny,” Butters growled.

“Dammit, guys! I killed Pete!” Stan blurted.

“You bastard,” Kyle smirked at him.

“You did NOT just say that?” Kenny grimaced.

“OK, OK, point taken,” Stan admitted, “I was a jerk, a drunk, and-”

“-and you killed someone,” Kenny interrupted, “My world, welcome to it. I figure I've killed Tweek and Craig twice now, and Leo maybe once.”

“WHAT?!” Butters squeaked in surprise.

“See, Stan, I didn't realize this until recently,” Kenny explained, ignoring Butters' comment for the moment, “But it doesn't matter what you remember about what you once did, in one of those canceled futures. It's about what you're doing, here, now. If you keep stewing about what you screwed up – or have yet to screw up – you'll drive yourself nuts.” He looked back at Keith. “I'm with our Futurist here. I think we should just sit back, and watch days go by.”

“How can we DO that?” Stan gasped.

“Stan, I haven't been twelve for a long time,” Kenny sighed, turning to look at Butters. “And this time around, I plan to enjoy it. Things are already falling into place, you know, and sometimes, you just have to admit that there are some things that _aren't_ going to change.”

“You can't mean that we're just gonna sit back and let Tweek die, and have Craig kill himself?” Kyle gasped. “God, Kenny! I still remember how you came – will come – to my house in the middle of the night to tell me about the crash!”

“The night that your mom finally accepted me,” Kenny nodded wistfully. “The night I committed suicide – again.”

“I'm with Kenny, for now,” Keith added.

“Why?” Butters wondered.

“In case you all haven't noticed, we've all been sleeping at night, right? When was the last time any of you were in that Trans-Time dimension, either in the cemetery, or out on the highway?”

No one said a thing for an awkwardly long time.

“Where and when I come from,” Keith explained, “That's a sure sign to just leave it alone.”

“I'm not sure I can,” Stan muttered, “I mean, damn, guys! This is Tweek and Craig we're talking about!”

“Now you know how I felt, when I was worried about you,” Kyle told him, which made Stan freeze. “You know how many nights I didn't sleep, worrying about you? Sitting up, all alone, freaked out by dreams of finding your dead ass in the cemetery shed?”

“That was some other Kyle, not you!” Stan countered, his face pale.

“That was a month ago,” Kyle replied, reaching over to take his hands in his own.

Stan's hands were warm.

“I guess you're going to have to have some help understanding all of this,” Kyle then decided.

Stan tried to recoil as Kyle's eyes suddenly changed, looking to Stan like lidded snow globes that were full of fire.

“Told you,” The Other spoke up in Stan's mind.

“Shut up,” Eclipse told It.

“Be careful you don't lobotomize him, like you did Cartman,” Keith reminded Kyle.

“Stan, I _am_ those other Kyles,” Kyle reminded him, as Stan's face softened. Then it hardened again. Stan smiled, but that smile soon shifted to a frown, then to silent tears as five years worth of possible “memories” were assimilated from Kyle.

From Eclipse.

“Know what I know, Stan,” Kyle whispered.

Kenny got up to walk to the closet.

“You know, I've missed that bickering, just like an old married couple! I didn't have that, when I came from. At least, not the last time,” Kenny laughed, as he took a fresh Mysterion costume from a hanger. This costume was even darker. “C'mon, let's go bust some heads. According to the map,” he turned quickly, throwing a new Mysterang at the map. It stuck in the center of the pattern that the push pins had outlined, belying the deadly accuracy of Kenny's aim. “We should find some action right there!”

“We're trying to have a moment here, if you don't mind?” Kyle sighed in exasperation, as Stan sat quietly weeping, leaning on Kyle. “You'll be OK now,” Kyle told him.

“But why me?” Stan mumbled.

Kyle then stood up. He closed his eyes, and his clothes were suddenly replaced by his Eclipse costume, in a shimmering effect. “Because I couldn't do this without you!”

“The first trip through, there was no Eclipse,” Mysterion told Stan.

“You and Berry Boy,” Stan snorted, “Some of us still have to change clothes the old fashioned way!” He paused. “So why don't you just have Bradley Biggle get in on this?” Stan then asked, “I mean, if he can kick Cthulhu back into his own dimension, stopping a semi shouldn't be too hard for him?”

Mysterion turned, his cape swirling behind him. From behind the white Batman-style eyeholes in his newer mask, no one could see the brief flash in his hard, blue eyes. They also couldn't see the tiny pinprick of light in his palm, under the black leather glove.

“Because Bradley won't be around then, unless something changes,” Mysterion informed them.

“Well, is he OK?” Butters gasped.

“He'll be making a trip back to his homeworld,” Mysterion assured them.

“So it's just us?” Butters asked, fetching his spare Chaos garb from the closet.

“Count me out,” Keith waved them off, “I'm no superhero! I'll just stay here, waiting to patch you up in the morning.” He then kissed Kyle's cheek.

“Can I ask you something?” Stan spoke up, hitching up his gadget belt. He pulled the smaller nail gun from his backpack and tested it. “If Kyle's an ace, and you're a eunuch, what do you guys - you know - DO? If you sleep together?”

“Sleep,” Keith shrugged.

Butters, who'd just finished off his soda, shot it out his nose and nearly choked. His face was beet red.

“And on that note,” Mysterion decided, “Duty calls!”

When they'd gone, Keith remained below, thinking.

“They're gonna be fine, you know,” a taller Eclipse told him, stepping out of the shadows.

“I guess,” Keith sighed.

“What's wrong?” The man in the sky blue jacket asked, as he stepped out of that same dark corner.

Keith just shrugged. He ran a hand over his bald head, then yanked his hat on.

“Your poofball is flat,” Eclipse pointed out.

“Better that, than a melted clock,” Kevin Stoley shrugged. “You're sure you wanna stay here, Korx?”

“That's not my name anymore,” Keith mumbled, putting his head down on the table.

“He's not coming after you again, you know,” Eclipse then said, “I made sure of that.”

“Can we _ever_ be sure?” Keith countered.

“To some extent, no,” Kevin conceded. “But the fact that you're still here proves that the worst of the factions have been either temporally disabled, or eliminated. That, and it's kind of hard to send someone after you, or even send a message back, without a power core.”

“Or if he's locked up in juvenile hall, right here, right now,” Eclipse almost laughed. “That should do a number on his future self!”

“Typical,” Keith sighed again, not looking up at them. “Don't tell the Drone anything he doesn't need to know.”

“'He'?” Eclipse wondered, putting his hands on Keith's shoulders. “Well, I'll tell 'him' one thing – I think it's time that he's in bed.”

“I like being a boy, for now,” Keith admitted, as Eclipse took him in his arms and pixelated him up to Kenny room proper.

“I don't think Kenny will be using this tonight,” Kevin agreed, as Eclipse got the child tucked in. He kissed their cheek.

“I wish you were part of the gang, now,” Keith told Kevin.

“You know I can't be,” Kevin replied, “I have other friends, other things to do. The Kevin that's twelve, that is!” He smiled. “Gotta get that boy-genius thing going, and get that free ride to **MIT**!”

“I … know,” Keith yawned, falling asleep before the two of them could even turn around.

Eclipse took Kevin's hand, and they vanished, to reappear in some other place, some other time.

“Did he seem overly tired to you?” Kevin asked, looking around at the odd landscape.

“He used the last of his Ribozene on Clyde some weeks ago,” Eclipse said, his voice soft, “To stabilize Clyde Donovan's DNA. To prevent the relapse. I felt it, when this Kyle sensed the change from the first time he eclipsed himself.”

“The coffee shoppe scene?” Kevin wondered.

Eclipse nodded.

“Days go by, but in our line of work, they come again,” Kevin pointed out. “You in the mood for Tweek's place? I'll buy?”

“Perhaps not, for Keith,” Eclipse shook his head, tightening his cowl. “I think I'll pass.”

“Does Korx, sorry – Keith – know?” Kevin asked.

Eclipse nodded. “I've already hidden a new hypo here, and told Kyle. _This_ Kyle, I mean.”

“If Keith needed it so badly, why'd he give it to Clyde?” Kevin wondered.

“That's the kind of kid that he...they...is...are, whatever!” Eclipse answered. “He hasn't used his Discriminator's last jump, either. He must be saving it?”

“We should tell him,” Kevin stated.

“I think he already knows,” Eclipse nodded. “Keith's a smart kid.” He paused. “He _has_ to know. Now, I mean.”

“How so?” Kevin asked.

“Because he died in my arms, about an hour ago, from my perspective,” Eclipse explained. “They don't tell Drones that without Ribozene, their DNA falls apart after a couple years.”

Kevin gasped, his jaw dropping. “I never knew that!”

“It's not common knowledge, I had to tear it out of some jerk's mind,” Eclipse replied. “It's just another way to control them.”

“And yet Keith still gave his last dose to Clyde?” Kevin wondered, sounding awed. “Keith _knew_ that he'd die here, if he got stuck here – now?”

“That's the kind of child he is,” Eclipse sniffled behind his mask. “I mean, yeah, his Faction would overlook stuff like sneaking back to get donuts or something, but this?” He kicked a small rock in frustration. “Well, at least the kid fucked them over royally, stealing that power core and all.”

“He told me, when I first found him, that this whole mess never happened, in the future he came from,” Kevin pointed out, “That Tweek didn't die in that crash, and that he and Craig got married, and they-”

“Like he said to Clyde, all those decades ago, it's the offspring that matters,” Eclipse said.

“I guess it has been that long,” Kevin mused. “ _When_ are we, anyways? Or is this Mars?”

“No, it's Earth, about a billion years in the future,” Eclipse explained. “I come here to think, to have some 'me' time. And don't you _dare_ tell little Kyle how to get here!”

“Given the String Theory, I don't understand how YOU got here?” Kevin admitted, “ _You're_ not an Immortal!”

“No, but I'm Eclipse,” that other Kyle replied, pulling down his cowl to reveal a mostly gray “Jewfro”, as they'd once called it. “The _last_ Eclipse.” He sighed again. “You ever read the short story, **The Inn Outside the World** , Kev?”

“No?”

“You should.”

And with that, Eclipse pixelated away to yet some other place and time, leaving Kevin Stoley standing there alone under a cloudless, blue-gray sky where a large red sun shone down upon him.

The man looked at his Discriminator.

“You know,” he told the device, “There's days where I wish I'd never invented you!” He adjusted the Discriminator. “Nasty! I really don't like this place,” Kevin muttered to himself, “Ah, well. Into the _blue_ again! I rather liked the eighth grade.”

And with that, Kevin vanished from that arid, empty Earth under a large red sun.

 


	31. Transitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle reflects upon his Bar Mitzvah during a much-needed camping trip over what the boys hope will be a lazy summer between seventh and eighth grades. For Jewish boys, the Bar Mitzvah is a significant transition in life. So is the other transition that Kyle plans to undertake. Also note the scattered Easter Eggs in this one! (Example: the episode 'Volcano'.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a mention of implied sex between 13 year olds (Bunny). It also deals with gender identity, gender confusion, (male-to-?) and as the title says, transitions. If you are offended by this, or the concept of "lack of gender could also be a gender", then you want to stop reading after the Bar Mitzvah flashback. Skinny-dipping for the boys is also mentioned. Other surprises abound, including an appearance by Marjorine.  
> I am also having problems with some of the italicized text going normal when posted here. If you see some, please let me know, and I will edit any confusing lines.  
> There is also a line where Kenny tells Kyle that something is "gross." This is not race related. This is about the episode it references (blood and gore), which almost me me vomit, watching that episode!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**31**

**Transitions**

*****

“OK, how do I do this again?” Keith asked, as he sat on a large rock holding a squirming worm in one hand, and a large fishing hook in the other.

“You really dunno how to fish?” Stan wondered, never taking his eyes off his red and white bobber.

“I wouldn't know a real live fish if it came up and bit me on the ass!” Keith replied, sniffling. “And what is this _**OFF!**_ shit you sprayed all over me, Stan? It stinks!”

“Bug repellent?” Stan sighed, “So you don't get bit by some insect!”

“And the silly hat?” Keith asked, nodding and making the brim of his tacky fishing hat flop.

“You have to wear the fishing hat, for good luck,” Stan insisted. “And Uncle Jimbo had 'em on sale.”

“I don't doubt it,” Kyle smiled, as they all had the same hats.

“So, I take it that mosquitoes are extinct, a thousand years from now?” Kenny asked.

“And fish, too?!” Butters gasped, holding up a prize bluegill that he'd just caught.

“Clyde won't like the sound of that,” Kenny put in, as he showed Keith how to bait the hook again.

“I just don't feel right, killing an endangered creature,” Keith shrugged. “Isn't there anything else to eat around here?”

Kenny laughed. For him, the camping trip up some mountain or other, was yet another thing that had never happened before. It was a change to the future(s) that Kenny knew. Still, he didn't mind at all. The trip, courtesy of Kyle (with a little help from Jimbo and Ned in driving them out there), was a welcome relief from daily life in South Park.

Never mind that it was now life in South Park, where reality itself was subject to change at the drop of a ham sandwich.

As Kenny showed Keith how to get the worm on the hook again, Kyle yawned and leaned back against a tree. As he called it, 'eclipsing' them all up the mountain, had tired him out.

“Well, uhm, if that's how the guys on _**Star Trek**_ go through the transporter, I don't wanna do that _no_ more, Kyle!” Butters had gasped, upon rematerializing next to the lake. Then he'd promptly vomited and fainted.

“Well, Dumbledore _did_ tell Harry, in the books, that most people vomit the first time they apparate,” Kyle had snickered.

“You're not Harry Potter,” Kenny reminded him.

“No, he's a lot more dangerous,” Keith put in, as he cast his line out and promptly snagged Stan's fishing hat, reeling it in, right off of Stan's head.

Stan looked up, felt the top of his closely-cropped head, and looked around. Then he laughed.

As it was unseasonably warm that summer between their seventh and eighth grade years, the boys had all opted for extreme haircuts. It wasn't the first time for any of them, though, and reminded them of the time they'd joined the David Blaine cult.

“It's only going to get hotter, too,” Keith informed them, as he finally got his line in the water. “Now I just sit here and wait?”

“Jiggle the bobber now and then,” Stan reminded him. “Kyle, how'd you know about this lake?” Stan then asked.

“One of my older Kyle's told me about it,” Kyle shrugged, yawning.

“Ask him if we're gonna catch anything,” Kenny smirked.

“Well, that's cheating!” Butters squeaked in alarm.

“You're really gonna eat that thing?” Keith cringed, staring at the fish as Butters put it on the stringer.

“Gosh, I think there's plenty of fish, Keith?” Butters replied, “Don't you like fish?”

“I can't believe it's gonna be eighth grade for us already, _again_ ,” Kenny sighed, changing the subject. “How deep do ya think this lake is?”

“ _Deep_ ,” Stan answered, “The water's emerald green out there, so it's _really_ deep. And cold.” He pointed to a stream feeding into the lake. “That water's coming right off the snow pack. Probably cold enough to make you have a heart attack, if you jumped in it!” He looked around for a bit. “Remember that time that Uncle Jimbo and Ned took us camping, and the volcano went off?”

“Yeah,” Kenny snorted, “Not one of my better death-dodging days!”

“You _have_ stayed alive a long time now?” Butters wondered, as his line jerked. Butters yanked back, set the hook, and reeled in a large lake trout. As he put it on the stringer, Keith cringed and put down his pole.

“If it makes you feel any better, this lake _is_ overpopulated,” Kyle said, his voice quiet. “Some of the fish have to go.” He closed his eyes. “There's some real sea monsters down there, too!”

“Spoilers!” Stan complained.

“Cheating!” Butters added.

“I know what you mean,” Keith nodded sadly, “Better fish, than people, I guess. Why don't I go set up the tents?”

“Just don't eat anything you find growing wild, without asking me,” Stan called after him, as he proceeded to haul in another large bluegill.

“You know about that kinda stuff?” Kenny asked.

“Uncle Jimbo's a survivalist,” Stan sighed, “I know all the wild edibles, and all the wild poisons, too. Maybe we can find some porcini mushrooms for Keith later? I think I saw some blackberries over there?”

“Eighth grade,” Butters repeated, “I still can't believe it.”

“Maybe you'll hit puberty this year,” Kenny teased him.

Butters blushed. “I'm not _that_ far behind!” He countered. “I can make _juice,_ you know!”

“Yeah, everyone knows, Leo,” Kenny laughed, “From the Sarcasti-Ball days, remember?”

“Who could forget?” Stan made a disgusted face. “And the worst part was, it took my dad to figure it out!”

“Well it wasn't MY fault!” Butters protested, “I didn't know!”

“I know,” Kenny leaned over and kissed his cheek, which only made Butters blush deeper. “I was teasing!”

“This is the summer that Tweek's supposed to have a heart attack,” Stan then cut in, as he jerked his head up in surprise, nearly hooking his finger and almost losing his fish.

“Not when I come from,” Kenny countered. “Kyle?”

Kyle was asleep, though.

“Let him sleep,” a different Kyle whispered, as he emerged from behind the tree that Kyle-Prime was leaning on.

“I hate it when you do that,” Stan grumbled. “Which one are _you_?”

“The one who just survived the first day of eighth grade,” Kyle-8, as he told them to call him, answered. “That's why I came back here.”

“No spoilers,” Stan insisted.

“Oh, no!” Kyle-8 agreed, looking over at 'himself'. “Geeeze, _why_ did we shave our hair off? We look goofy!”

“It made Keith happy,” Kenny answered. “He'll never know what it's like to get a haircut, you know.”

“True,” Kyle-8 agreed, running his hand over his modest 'Jewfro', which looked like it had a bad run-in with some straightener on one side.

“You can't hard-part and quiff hair like that,” Stan informed him.

“I know, I found out the hard way,” Kyle-8 shrugged. “But getting back to Tweek?”

“I dunno why that just popped into my head,” Stan complained. “I'm still trying to sort all this shit out!”

“I know,” Kyle-8 told him, as the others looked on. “It gets easier, trust me. And Tweek won't have a heart attack this summer, unless something else changes.”

“Aren't you disturbing the flow of time by being here?” Kenny had to ask.

“Not really,” Kyle-8 pointed at the sleeping Kyle-Prime. “I'm projecting out of his mind. I'm not really here.”

“I don't think I wanna know,” Butters groaned, as he cast his line again, this time baited with a large green caterpillar he'd found on a bush.

“Hold onto something,” Kyle-8 suggested.

“Why?” Butters asked, just as his pole was nearly pulled out of his hands. Butters screamed in surprise, waking Kyle-Prime, and Kyle-8 vanished. Butters gripped his pole, which was bending, and set his feet as he was nearly pulled over forwards. Kenny jumped up and grabbed him around the chest. Butters dug in with his new hiking boots, but if not for Kenny, he'd have gone into the lake.

“Let some line out! You gotta play him!” Stan yelled, “Let him run, then set the line again, and reel! You're gonna break your pole!”

Butters battled the fish for nearly five whole minutes before getting it close enough to the shore for Kyle to wade in and net it. When he did, it was all that Kyle could do to lift the net, the fish was so big.

“Wow!” Butters breathed in amazement, as he held the fish up.

“Probably the king of the lake!” Stan observed, as he took pictures with everyone's phones.

“You're gonna kill it?” Keith asked somberly, having returned from setting up the camp proper.

The boys all just stared at the fish.

“We got pictures,” Butters said quietly, holding the gasping and tired fish in his arms like a baby. In fact, the fish was about the size of a baby.

“Yeah,” the boys all agreed.

Butters then knelt at the bank, and gently released the fish back into the water. For a moment, it just floated there, gasping, its yellow underbelly flashing in the sunlight. They all just stood there, watching it, saying nothing.

Then, with a sudden snap of its tail, the fish righted itself and was gone, back to the depths.

“Soon as we get some signal, we can post those pics,” Kenny offered.

“Yeah,” the others agreed, as if no one knew what else to say.

For a long while, they all just stood at the bank of the lake, staring out across the water which slowly shifted from blue to green. Insects buzzed, birds sang, and little wild things scuffled around in the surrounding forest. Now and again, a fish would jump, sending ripples across the lake to lap up on the shore. Then the surface would return to smoothness, reflecting the same sky.

“Now I know why Tweek meditates about places like this,” Kyle finally said, feeling as if he'd just committed some sort of blasphemy, in breaking the mood.

“We were talking about Tweek, when another you showed up,” Stan told him.

“What did he want?” Kyle gasped.

“You mean you don't know?” Kenny asked, as Kyle shook his head. “Well, he said he'd just finished the first day of eighth grade, and he knew that Leo was gonna land that fish!”

“He showed up when Tweek popped into my head,” Stan reminded them.

“Could be some kind of temporal overspill,” Keith shrugged. “I mean, Kyle told me that my mind leaks, remember? Maybe that's what happened?”

“I thought Tweek was getting better?” Butters wondered, as he put up his fishing pole, then began stripping down. “What? I feel like swimmin' now!”

“I never turn down an invitation to go skinny-dipping!” Kenny agreed.

“Among other invitations,” Butters grinned wickedly. Kenny just shrugged in reply.

They all agreed that swimming sounded like a good idea.

“He is better, somewhat. Tweek, I mean,” Kyle filled them in. “I've sort of been keeping an eye on him.”

“So what changed?” Stan asked, testing the water with his foot and deciding to ease into it.

“Craig, mostly,” Kyle replied. “All the attention, Craig helping him at work, the lower stress, the meds he was on – which he wasn't on before. He's still got a bad heart valve, though,” Kyle added ominously, looking around again. “We should tell Craig and those guys about this place.”

“Craig can't take a day off from taking that car apart,” Keith rolled his eyes.

“You know, that's what I don't get!” Stan exclaimed, as he lay over to float on his back. “SHIT! This is cold!”

“Shrinkage!” Kenny laughed.

“Yeah, my balls are, like, already up by my tonsils!” Butters giggled.

“Well, we _could_ try and coax 'em back down?” Kenny offered.

“LIKE I SAID!” Stan interrupted, his face going pink, “What I don't get is – if that car kills Tweek – why don't we just trash the car? Or steal it?”

“I thought about that,” Kenny told him, “And it'd be too big a disruption to the timeline. The ripples would likely take out things we don't want them to.”

“And Tweek getting turned into street-pizza ISN'T?!” Stan blurted.

“Tweek didn't die, in the first timeline,” Keith reminded them.

“Well he damn sure died in all of mine!” Kenny exclaimed.

“Guys, if we're gonna put things back to like they were before, for me, I mean, then we have to do it carefully,” Keith reminded them. “That was Kenny's problem, see? If he saw something he didn't like, he changed it.”

“And made a worse mess,” Kenny admitted.

“True, sometimes,” Keith corrected him, “But you also did a lot of good. Clyde, for example, who _won't_ end up losing his other testicle, most of his colon and bladder, and eventually ending up dead.”

“I thought that future medicine you shot him up with, cured him?” Kyle asked.

“That was insurance,” Keith countered, shivering a bit at the cold water. “No, I think that Tweek and Craig were supposed to go to Denver that weekend, or _will_ go. It'd be best if he didn't go 285, though. Still, I dunno what happens in Denver that needs them to be there?”

“But Craig doesn't believe it, I don' think,” Kenny reminded them, “And we found out the hard way that he can't handle other ...temporal ...memories? Is that right?”

“Close enough,” Keith agreed, “Yeah, Craig's mind just isn't capable of -”

“I don't think mine is, either,” Stan interrupted, “And I still don't see why you all had to DO this to ME!”

“Stan,” Kyle sort of whined, “We've been over this a dozen times already!”

“I know,” Stan conceded, “I'm sorry, Kyle. It's just that I … I don't know. Shit! What can _I_ really do to help?”

“If Keith says we can't destroy the car, then we can _modify_ the car,” Kenny thought aloud. “I've had plenty of time to think about it, and do the math. From the visions, and knowing what happened, studying the crash site, if Red Racer had just a little more thrust, maybe new tires on the back? I mean, the skid marks show that Craig _almost_ made it, with that J-whip maneuver he tried to avoid the semi with.”

“You, doing math like that?” Stan scoffed.

“Try five-dimensional calculus,” Keith grinned. “No, I think Kenny's right. With all the mods that Craig is gonna do to the second engine for his car, there's gotta be something else that we can do to it, without him knowing it?”

“Or just suggest it to him,” Kenny mused. “350 cubic inches, bored thirty-over, thirteen-to-one compression pistons, ported and polished heads, three quarter cam, roller bearing shaft and lifters, and a Borg-Warner turbo fed by a custom injection plant, four on the floor, and a Dana replacement posi rear end for more top end. Not to mention the suicide clutch,” Kenny rattled off the specs.

“Damn!” Stan gasped, as the Toolshed-part of him began to think about it. In his mind, images of engine components formed, meshed, and began to work. It was almost like watching TV. Gas and exhaust moving in and out of valves, opened by push rods, pushed by the camshaft, synched to the main crankshaft by a timing chain, where pistons moved inside the block, inside their respective cylinders, creating power. The crankshaft turned a shaft that went into the transmission, where a myriad of other gears bathed in pressurized fluid moved to spin the driveshaft. The driveshaft, in turn, connected to and spun the gears in the rear axle, making the back wheels turn.

“Now you know why we needed you,” Kyle told him, as if he could see the vision, too. “So what do we do?”

“Craig's always a bit conservative,” Stan said softly.

“You call _that_ engine conservative?” Butters asked, “Then again, I dunno shit about engines!”

“The over-boost regulator,” Stan nodded. “We bump it up a bit, and don't tell him. See, the regulator controls the waste-gate, so that turbo pressure doesn't blow the whole thing to hell! If I know Craig, he'll have it set a few pounds lower than it can really take! And if it was me, I'd use better bearings in the low end of the engine, too.”

“All he needs is about another foot to clear the truck,” Kenny repeated, the images of skid marks on 285 forever burnt into his memory.

“I think I can do it,” Stan nodded. “If the car has to stay, like Keith says it does, we can distract Craig while I tamper with the turbo regulator.”

“Which is like four years from now,” Kenny reminded him.

“Still?” Stan shrugged, “Plenty of time for me to plan it!”

“Now you see why we needed you?” Kyle repeated. “But you'll have to learn a lot of math!”

“I fucking hate math,” Stan sighed.

“Well, the first incarnation of the engine is just stock, with a few little mods,” Kenny reminded them. “It's gonna win a lot of car shows. I mean, Craig wouldn't even change the old radio out, 'til his dad found a modern lookalike.”

“If you say so,” Keith agreed, “I dunno. Internal combustion engines went the way of the dinosaur in 2075, right after the -”

“Spoilers!” Stan cut him off, as he floated on his back, the gentle current of the lake slowly carrying them all in a wide circle. “You know, this is really nice. No aliens, no monsters, no bikers, no celebrities.”

“Nice and boring, just like Craig would like it?” Kenny asked.

“I think we could do with some boring,” Kyle agreed.

“Uhm, there's not snapping turtles in this lake, is there?” Butters fretted.

“Afraid they might bite _something_ off?” Kenny laughed, which got them all to laughing.

“That'd make it kinda hard to stage another Wieners-Out protest, wouldn't it?” Stan asked.

“What's that?” Keith asked.

“Oh! Back in fourth or fifth grade, when we had this, like, gender war with the girls, Butters started this thing where we all -” Kyle began, but then stopped abruptly.

“What?” Keith asked. “Oh, you mean penises?” Keith got it, “I see!”

“We, uhm, kinda had these no-pants pride marches, sorta, uhh, exposing our -” Stan tried to explain, but stopped.

“How can one little part of your anatomy be so important to you?” Keith asked.

No one answered right away.

“I guess it's -” Kenny began, but found out that he had no idea what to say. “You really dunno, do you?”

“Agender drone, remember?” Keith reminded him, “But I guess having a penis _would_ make using the bathroom a lot easier?”

“Any old tree will do,” Butters agreed.

“I think you all put _way_ too much importance on gender roles, and what's between your legs,” Keith scoffed, “It's what's between your _ears,_ not between your legs, that matters! I mean, when a lady has a baby, the first thing the doctor does is look at their genitals and announce the gender, right? Why is that? Oh, he's got a penis, so get him a blue onesie and buy him a toy truck!” Keith rolled their eyes.

“Well, at least we've got a transgender President?” Stan offered.

“True,” Kyle agreed, “But it's still got a long way to go. The attitude, I mean.”

“Yeah, those other boys still think I'm some kinda freak,” Keith added.

“Binary mindset,” Kenny offered. “Give it time.”

“Well, not to spoil it,” Keith smiled, “But eventually, that binary gender thing will go out, just like gas engines.”

“That's nice to know,” Kyle sighed, paddling over to a large rock, and stretching out on it, in a patch of sun like a lizard. “This water _is_ pretty cold!”

“I think _you've_ transitioned outta the old gender norms!” Kenny laughed so hard that he almost choked, pointing at Kyle.

“Holy shit, Dude!” Stan gasped. He then checked himself. “AIGH!”

“Shrinkage,” Kenny reminded him, which was enormously funny.

“And here I thought I was the one, who had gender and bathroom confusion?” Stan grinned, climbing up alongside Kyle on his rock.

“So what if your brain isn't male-to-female, or vice versa?” Kyle then asked. “I understand Cait's waiting to be a woman, and doctors can fix that. But what if you don't feel like _anything_?”

“Hello?” Keith asked, climbing up on the large rock as well. “You mean, what's the saying here? Chopped liver?”

“Lack of gender is also a gender, isn't it?” Kenny asked, “Like deciding to not choose, is also a choice?”

“Not like you can transition from male-to-?” Kyle paused.

“Agender?” Keith helped him out, “No, I guess your doctors here have this thing about removing healthy tissue?”

“Whoa, _whoa_ , **whoa**!” Stan cut in, “STOP! Are we talking about getting your -” he paused, glancing down at his own nude form, “Let's _not_ go there, OK?”

“I guess that was how Clyde must'a felt, huh?” Kyle asked, “I mean, he lost one nut to cancer, and look at how ashamed it made him?”

“It really _does_ scare the shit outta you cis-males, doesn't it?” Keith laughed so hard that it startled them all. They all looked at Keith. “I'm sorry!” they finally caught their breath, “But yeah, male-to-agender is a valid transition, when I come from! Quite a few younger cis-males opt for it, if they don't wanna be breeders. There's a huge tax break for it, too!”

“Wait? WHAT?!” Butters squeaked in alarm, “You mean you have boys, like us, that don't wanna be boys? OR girls? They just get it cut-” Butters gaped, making a scissors sign with his fingers, his face pale.

“I thought I just said that?” Keith asked in reply, “But yes, Butters. Does me being agendered bother you?”

“Well, uhm, no?” Butters replied.

“They why should it bother you, if an anatomically normal boy didn't wanna be a boy anymore?” Keith asked. “You're OK with President Cait, aren't you?”

“Well, yeah! She's stunning and brave!” Butters finally got it, it seemed. “Oh! I get it!”

“We were beginning to wonder,” Kenny grinned.

“Speak for yourself!” Stan shuddered, “OK, OK, call me a bigot, but _I_ don't get it, all right? I like being a boy, and I like having the parts that define my gender!”

“And that's OK, too, Stan,” Keith assured him. They smiled. “You feel sorry for me, don't you, Stan?”

“Yeah,” Stan confessed, blushing.

“Well, don't,” Keith punched Stan's arm. “I don't get embarrassing erections, or get hit in the nuts, or have wet dreams, or-”

“That's a good point!” Kenny had to note.

“Kyle?” Butters then asked, “If you can like, you know? Beam us up, or whatever? And disappear like you do, when you're Eclipse, couldn't you just make yourself come back with the body you want?”

They all looked at Butters.

“Well, you have to put yourself back together, don't you? When you do that pixelated Eclipse thing?” Butters persisted.

“Just make sure you don't leave something important, like a lung or a leg, behind?” Stan agreed. “Still, it kinda freaks me out, Kyle! I mean, you don't wanna be... a boy?”

“You phase out, and come back, Kyle,” Kenny added, “And you put yourself back together automatically, right?”

“Yeah?” Kyle nodded.

“So just don't put the male-stuff back, next time you do it,” Kenny shrugged, “Leave it wherever it is that you go when you phase? I mean, if you study anatomy enough, you could probably use that being-everything-and-nothing power to even turn yourself into a girl, if you wanted! I mean, hell, if you study a picture of one us long enough, you could probably come back as, say, ME!”

“I was even a cheetah, for a moment,” Kyle agreed. “And a hybrid squirrel-chicken monster, who understood algebra,” Kyle reminded them of the first time he'd ever phased himself out of existence. “But that other stuff was kinda creepy. You know how cheese feels? Or what it's like to be an antelope, or a frog?”

Stan looked sideways at Kyle, “If that's what you want, Dude, I'm OK with it.”

“The monkey was pretty fun, too,” Kyle added, smiling wistfully.

“You turned into a monkey?” Butters gasped.

“Beast Boy, he ain't,” Stan joked. “Did you have a tail?” He added, sounding intrigued.

“You should probably practice on something unimportant, say, a little toe, before you try,” Keith suggested. “After all, if you're gonna use this metaphysical bullshit to transition, Kyle, you better be sure. You might not be able to go back?”

“You're probably right,” Kyle sighed.

“Kyle,” Butters cut in, “I'm not an expert or nothin', but you're really down lately. And bein' depressed is a sure sign that – I mean – well...? It's eighth grade, Kyle, and you've never really had a girlfriend – OR a boyfriend!” Butters added hastily. He gave Kyle a sincere look. “I think you're lonely, Kyle. But I dunno if changing what you are will fix that?”

“Cait said there was a lot of therapy and guidelines involved, in transitioning,” Kyle agreed. “You have to be absolutely sure. But it's not like you can live as an agender – not really – like you can if you're male-to-female. Can you?”

“I think you already do,” Stan put in, glancing quickly at Kenny for confirmation. “I mean, me and Wendy haven't, you know? But we've … made out? I mean, other than that time you kissed me, what've you _done_ , Kyle? Anything?”

“Do you even _want_ to?” Kenny offered, sighing. “Kyle, not to add spoilers, like Stan says, but in both of those futures where I made it to high school, before I came back, you never...” Kenny paused. “Shit! I'm just gonna say it, Kyle! I told you before that you were pretty much a eunuch. _Now_ you're depressed, and lemme tell ya, Pal, it's only gonna get worse. The Kyle I knew was a real Debbie-Downer, you know what I mean? High school Kyle isn't much fun to be around. Sorry!”

“No offense taken, Kenny,” Kyle shrugged, “I've talked to a few of me. Them. Whoever!”

“And?” Stan hinted.

“They won't tell me,” Kyle shrugged again. “It's kind of an agreement we all have.”

“Guys, badgering an asexual isn't nice,” Keith informed them, “I know you all can't understand it, but there's some of us that aren't mentally … wired … for sexual stuff, OK?”

“Yeah, but you were _made_ that way, weren't you?” Stan had to ask.

“Yes, but that doesn't mean that nature didn't make Kyle that way, too, in his head, if not in his body,” Keith countered. “I know it's hard for you cis-males, once you've found out what your penis can do for you, but c'mon? It's not all about … making out, or who you go out with, or-”

“Or what you do to fight it, to get better,” Stan interrupted, taking his friend's hand. “Kyle, if you're just putting up a front, tell us – OK? Don't do what I did, and start drinking, or doing drugs, and just pushing everyone away.”

“Yeah, it's not just you that you're hurting, when you do that,” Kenny added. “Trust me.”

“Whadda'ya mean?” Kyle asked.

“I was pushed away enough, already,” Kenny told him, “That's why – this time – it's gonna be different! I know what lonely _is_ , Kyle. And I know what you're on track to turn into.” He then looked at Butters. “And it's not going to happen to you, this time, either, Leo!”

“ME?!” Butters gasped.

“Then again, your mom had a nervous breakdown, you've got the Principled Family now, and your granny is dead,” Kenny shrugged, “So things are really looking up, already!”

“And you've got us, Kyle,” Keith reminded him, “And you didn't have that before.”

“Just like _I_ didn't have you guys before,” Kenny agreed. “This time, it'll be different!”

“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled, leaning on Stan.

“So who's cleaning the fish?” Stan then asked, changing the subject, before it could get any more maudlin.

“I can do that, we do it all the time at City Wok, since Mr. Lu Kim expanded the menu,” Kenny volunteered.

Still, no one moved from the sunny rock.

“You know we gotta get back in that cold water?” Butters pointed out.

“Unless Eclipse beams us over to the bank?” Stan asked.

“Too tired,” Kyle sighed.

“NO WAY!” Butters held up his hands, as he dived in. He came up gasping, doing a graceful sidestroke to the bank.

“I didn't know he could swim that well?” Stan observed.

“C'mon, I'll make a fire, so you can warm up and be a boy again!” Keith teased him.

“Thanks!” Stan muttered, as they jumped in. At the bank, Stan looked around. “I'll even see if we can find you something to eat, that wasn't a living critter once!”

“I'd like that, thanks,” Keith smiled.

Once dried off, and dressed in jeans, hoodies, and hiking boots, the boys set off to find some wild edibles to have with their fish. Stan located cat tail tubers and day lily roots, which he said could be used like potatoes. They also found a large blackberry patch, which kept them occupied for hours. Keith was fascinated.

“Those are extinct, too?” Kyle asked.

“I've never seen real fruit in the wild. We have to grow stuff in sealed greenhouses,” Keith told them, hands and face already stained purple.

“You know, we did pack canned stuff?” Butters told them.

“Yeah, but who wants Spam and cans of baked beans?” Stan asked. “That's just fart jokes waiting to happen!”

“Why are bodily functions so funny?” Keith had to ask, “I just don't get this _**Terrance & Phillip **_show at all?”

“Obviously not?” Kyle grinned, as they filled their hats with berries.

“Oh, gosh! These are sour!” Butters complained, as he chewed a handful.

Keith made an odd face, then shivered. His shoulders twitched. Then he sighed hard and smiled.

“Dude, did you just have an orgasm, or what?” Stan wondered, “These things are nasty!”

“Could be a reaction to something in the berries?” Kyle fretted, “You need something from your first aid kit, Keith?”

“Nothing that I haven't used up,” Keith replied, “I'll be fine. Really. They're just so good!”

“You can have the lot of 'em!” Butters nodded, making a disgusted face. “Now, if we could find blueberries?”

“What about some June apples?” Kyle pointed out a tree.

“What about these mushrooms?” Keith called, pointing to a grove of pines where some red and white mushrooms were growing in abundance.

“Oh HELL no!” Stan exclaimed, “Those are Amanita Muscaria! Fly Agarics! If they don't kill you, you'll be trippin' for days on those!”

“Magic mushrooms?” Butters asked.

“Yeah, and if it's a darker Amanita var Guessowii, you're dead,” Stan said harshly, looking around.

“We have a lot of fungus and mold back home, but I don't think it's edible,” Keith shrugged. “What about those?” He pointed to some brown and tan mushrooms.

Stan examined one, pointing out the spongy underside of the cap. “Porcinis! Worth their weight in gold, on the farmers' market!” Stan declared, “Choice edibles!”

“Looks like I won't starve after all!” Keith smiled. He sniffled. “That fish cooking does smell good, though?”

“I just hope it doesn't attract bears,” Butters worried.

“I can handle a bear,” Kyle assured him.

“So, are you going to the Scout Jamboree, later this month?” Stan asked, as they headed back to camp.

“I guess,” Kyle shrugged, “It's the first time that the Mountain Scouts have joined forces with Jew Scouts for the Nationals.”

“Well, don't forget, Al expects us at summer camp for a week, too!” Butters reminded them.

“Let's not book up the summer,” Kyle suggested, “I'm still trying to recover from my Bar Mitzvah, remember?”

“Yeah, who could forget that, Dude?” Stan laughed, “It was so...”

*

For Kyle Broflovski, the month of May hadn't been an easy one. School was letting out just after his thirteenth birthday, and for a Jewish boy, that meant his Bar Mitzvah. What it also meant was more study time with the Rabbi in learning Hebrew, learning the rituals, and memorizing more of Jewish history. It would have been easier, if Kyle could just get the hang of how Hebrew was read, so unlike English.

“It's the single most important thing in a Jewish man's life,” Gerald repeatedly told his son, “Since this when you'll be acknowledged as a man, Kyle!”

“And...you observe _which_ of these traditions?” Kyle asked.

Gerald didn't seem to have an answer for that. “It's...it's important, Kyle!” He finally managed. “It's a huge transition!”

“Dad, Ike's almost as big as I am,” Kyle reminded him, “And don't men usually have facial hair? Or hair _somewhere_?”

“Is that a balding joke?” Gerald grinned.

“Never mind, Dad,” Kyle sighed, as he went back to practicing his Hebrew. _Sounds like Klingon to me,_ Kyle thought.

Then, in addition to his Hebrew studies, Kyle also had homework and preparations for finals for the end of seventh grade. Unlike elementary school, the boys had found, junior high was quite different.

And Kyle Broflovski was determined to be at the top of his class, in both areas.

“You'll be fine, Kyle,” Another-Kyle told him one night, about a week before his Bar Mitzvah. “I did fine, so that means that you'll do fine.”

“But what if I choke?” Kyle asked, noting how similar this Kyle looked. Other than his haircut, which was nearly shaven bald.

“You won't. You didn't,” that other Kyle tried to convince him. “And besides, we'll all be there! We're always all there, in fact!” He smiled. “You can get a haircut after the ceremony, OK?”

“You _would_ know that,” Kyle sighed, as his 'Jewfro' was really beginning to get on his nerves again.

“Just think like a Klingon, when you read from the Torah,” the other Kyle advised.

“God!” Kyle groaned, “What about all the relatives from Jersey? What if Clyde or somebody does something dumb?” Kyle fretted, “Did I order enough yarmulkes for the guys?” Kyle plunked his head down on the desk.

“You'll be fiiiiine, I promise,” the other Kyle sighed. “Geeze, I can't believe I was this big of a basket case! Look, if it'll make you feel better, I promise, me and some of the other … you's … will keep the relatives under control, OK? You got this, Kyle! Why don't you at least rehearse, with Stan and the gang?” He looked around. “You know, you've sort of forgotten about Keith lately? Where are they, anyway?”

“Probably hanging out with Bebe and Wendy and them,” Kyle shrugged, “You know, the girls getting the low-down on us boys.”

“And you're worried about _that_?”

“Well, at least I don't have _Cartman_ to worry about,” Kyle finally sighed in relief.

“Yeah, well before you busted him cutting Craig's tires, he didn't come anyway. Said that being around so many Jews would make him have seizures!”

“That's Fatass, all right!” Kyle snickered, finding that he was enormously pleased with the idea of Cartman sitting in juvenile hall. “Man, I have to sing some of this stuff, though! You remember _**Getting Gay With Kids**_? I got no rhythm! I can't sing! And the traditional dances! I can't dance! Oh, God!”

“Kyle, just carry the thing in. Sing it the best you can. Speak Klingon at the reading. You'll do great!” His doppelganger insisted.

And so, despite his fears, Kyle did just that on his big day. As he walked into the hall, the first thing he saw that nearly made him lose his composure was Craig standing next to Tweek, a hand on Tweek's head, trying to keep the courtesy yarmulke from popping off of Tweek's head of heavily gelled hair. For some reason, this immediately put Kyle at ease. Seeing them sitting there in matching tuxes was adorable.

As he took the podium, he turned and almost gasped aloud. In the back of the room were more guests than he could count, all of them in ceremonial garb, and all of them with their red hair styled in the traditional curls. It seemed that the Kyle who has assured him only a few nights before, was not the only Kyle to show up. It was as if the back wall had vanished, to allow for the seemingly infinite crowd.

Kyle paused, noting an older version of himself in the crowd. His 'Jewfro' was so gray, his face so lined.

 _Projections,_ Kyle told himself, as all those Kyles smiled back at him. And yet, Kyle knew: _I am them, they are me!_

“What's the saying?” Keith had asked him the night before, “You cannot carry a song in a pail?”

_How old is THAT Kyle?_

Still, Kyle-Prime pressed on. He ignored the few sour notes he hit while singing, concentrating instead on his pronunciation. He then made his closing speech, which confused many members of his family when Kyle began to talk about his thoughts on how God must have put the Universe together, and how it would relate to his future life. He spoke of things he'd learned, and what he hoped would happen in the future.

“There are friends you have when you're little. And there are friends you have when you're in school. As you get older, there are less friends. Some of them aren't really friends. Some of them come in and out of your lives like employees in a restaurant. Some of them, if you're lucky, stay for the whole ride of life. But if you're _really_ lucky, there's that one true friend that you seem to be stuck with – for life! No matter what you do, or where you go, they always seem to find you. Or you always seem to find them. Despite those times when it all seemed to have fallen apart, that one special friend that was, is, and will yet be, is always going to be there. But I've learned something lately – and not just today. And that's no matter how much distance, or time, or ideology separates friends, they're still there. Even though every gang (he paused to stare at Craig and those guys, Stan and the gang sans Cartman, Ike and his friends) will inevitably have that one day - where we all went out to play together for the last time, and none of us realized it, we will never lose that chance to be reunited. That chance to make things turn out differently. All we have to do is not let that chance pass us by. Or, at least, to have the sense to reach back and grab it when we _see_ that it's passed us by. Because the lives that touch ours never really let go. Everything we had, everything we have, and everything we will someday have, will always be a part of us. We just have to have the sense, and the maturity, to realize that.”

“He got that from Q on _**Star Trek: TNG**_ ,” Craig whispered to Tweek, who was nudging a snickering Kevin.

“I have no idea what he's saying,” Sheila whispered to Gerald, after elbowing him hard in the ribs to wake him up.

“I told you, when you dropped him on his head when he was a baby, that this was going to happen!” Gerald replied, noting the perplexed look on the Rabbi's face.

“So today, they'll say I'm a man,” Kyle concluded. “But to some, like Great Auntie Ruth,” he winked at an old woman, “I'll always be Kyle the boy.”

“Oh, I get it now!” Sheila whispered, dabbing her eyes with a dainty handkerchief.

And before Kyle knew it, the ceremony was over.

Kyle Broflovski was a man.

The problem was, he didn't feel like one.

Even at the reception, with all the traditional dances and music, Kyle felt distracted. He nearly vomited during the traditional hoisting of the chair, and couldn't watch everyone else (who seemed to be having a great time) circling about him. The windows, when he glanced at them to steady his balance, looked to have a reddish tint. The candles and white electric lights seemed to have those same vapor trails coming off of the flames or bulbs, just as the Christmas lights had the first time he'd slid forward in time at Tweek's place. Even the annoying chatter of his cousin Kyle just seemed to bounce off of him.

“You need to eat,” Kyle heard another of his voices telling him, but when he turned, there was no one there.

It was, naturally, Scott Malkinson that pointed this out. “Lots'a high carb stuff here! Just what we need, after all that! Your pump good?” Scott asked, not waiting for a reply, as he lifted Kyle's shirt and checked it. “CBGM says you're down to 62,” Scott pointed out, “You didn't eat breakfast, did you?”

“No,” Kyle admitted, “I was afraid I'd throw up!”

And so they ate.

And then they ate some more.

“Are all Jewish parties like this?” Clyde Donovan asked, the mere sight of his loaded plate making Kyle's blood sugar rise.

“Pretty much,” Kyle finally smiled, blinking at the flash of memory of an empty chair, instantly refilled with Clyde again. “Knock yourself out, Clyde, it's all been blessed, so you're safe!”

“Of course he's safe,” Keith agreed, deciding that he didn't really want to know what he was eating.

“If it's any consolation, Kyle,” Kenny told him, as they were almost done eating, “The first one, I didn't come to.”

“You didn't come to my Bar Mitzvah before?” Kyle gasped, “Why?”

Kenny shrugged. “I wasn't comfortable with it. Your mom hated me, remember? I wasn't invited. But that was another lifetime,” Kenny added.

“I can't believe it got that bad,” Kyle shook his head, looking down at his empty plate.

“Seventh grade was when it all started going to hell,” Stan recalled, “Remember?”

“You weren't here, either,” Kenny told Stan.

“Please don't tell me why,” Stan mumbled.

And Kenny didn't.

“Where was Clyde?” Kyle then whispered in Kenny's ear.

“In Denver, having his checkup,” Kenny replied. “He cried all the way back, you know, for missing it.”

Under the table, Kyle squeezed Keith's hand. The bald child, looking silly with the yarmulke, just smiled back.

Kyle sighed. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. “Let's not talk about what was,” he decided. “That was then, this is now.”

Yet Kyle couldn't help but wonder, as he finished his meal, who all had not been at his celebration in those other aborted timelines. Stan, Clyde, Kenny, even Cartman. But who else? And why?

Kyle found that this bothered him.

“So, who you gonna dance with?” Bebe then asked, from the opposite side of the table.

“Well, it's kinda traditional to dance with a girl,” Kyle sighed, having noticed some time ago that Heidi Turner, despite being invited, hadn't come. Not that he would have danced with her, anyway. “But with my record of a home-schooled girl gone wild, a humanoid Ad, and a psycho, I should probably skip that part,” Kyle decided. “But it's tradition for me to dance. Even if it's with my mom. It happens a lot, you know.” He nodded towards his cousin Kyle from back east. The boys snickered.

“Rebecca Cotswolds, I remember her,” Stan agreed.

“I have an idea,” Bebe mused, “Don't worry!”

“That's a sure sign that you need to worry,” Stan pointed out, as Bebe fled with Clyde and Keith. “They're up to something?”

Kyle glanced around the room, noting that Chef was having a discussion with the Rabbis at the buffet. Even Al and Mr. Slave seemed to be entertaining some of the Jersey relatives, most notably, Kyle's aunts and a few questionable older cousins.

“Kyle?” Cousin Kyle then asked, “Don't you have a girlfriend _yet_? I mean, I've seen all these couples, and you...” Cousin Kyle began to drone on. He stopped abruptly, though, when he met his cousin's gaze. “Kyle, why are your eyes orange?” Cousin Kyle then asked. “Are those some kind of holographic contact lenses, Kyle?”

“Don't strangle him,” Another-Kyle warned Kyle-Prime.

Kyle-Prime blinked at his cousin, who then promptly fainted.

“That's that,” Kyle-Prime muttered to himself, as Bebe, Clyde, and the others returned with a girl that Kyle didn't recognize. Then again, he'd sent out so many invitations that he wasn't sure who all was there. For all Kyle knew, it could have been one of his female cousins from the flock of them in Jersey, and he'd never know. It wasn't as if they were a close bunch.

She wore a yellow dress trimmed in blue, and her thick, curly hair matched the tint of Kyle's. Her skin was darker than just an average Caucasian's tan, and her almond-shaped eyes were mysterious as she offered a soft hand.

“So, I hear it's tradition for the lucky boy to start the first dance of the evening?” She offered.

“Well,” Kyle coughed, hastily taking a gulp of water, “It is... but, I...uhm, don't dance so good?” He fumbled, finding that he couldn't take his eyes off her.

“I can lead?” She offered. “Kelly,” she introduced herself, as Bebe, Wendy, and the girls went back to their respective dates, looking quite pleased with one another.

And so they danced.

Kyle could have done without the attention called to them by the announcer, but then again, it was tradition.

He found that Kelly lead quite well.

“Who's that girl?” Gerald asked, as they all sat watching the only couple on the floor.

“I have _no_ idea! I've never seen her before,” Sheila admitted, “But isn't she lovely? She's even a redhead!”

They said little as the dance went on. In fact, looking back, Kyle could not have told anyone, later, what dance it was that they did. They simply danced. Nor would Kyle even remember the song that had played.

When the dance finally ended, Kyle looked into her eyes. “You're new in town, aren't you? I don't remember you. Have you known Bebe and the girls for very long?”

“For about as long as I've known you, silly!” Kelly giggled. “You really don't _know,_ Kyle?”

Kyle wanted to reply, but found that all he could do was stare into Kelly's eyes.

It was when he finally looked down, to make sure he'd not been stepping on her toes, that he saw the shoes.

Metallic light blue shoes, with a little strap across the top. A high heel, and with an open top.

Kyle knew those shoes.

“The list!” Kyle gasped, “The cutest boys list! I know those shoes! They're the ones Bebe had, when she was gonna shoot us! When she was dating Clyde, to get free shoes!”

“Well, of course I borrowed them, I don't own any _girls'_ formal clothes!” Kelly smiled. “Not like I could wear capri pants and one of your old polos to this.”

Kyle gasped.

In fact, his heart skipped a beat in shock.

“KORX?!” He even got the name wrong, he was so taken aback.

'Kelly' blushed.

“You...you...?” Kyle stammered, his own face hot, as he realized that his foster sibling made a very convincing girl.

And a very beautiful one, at that.

So convincing, in fact, that they'd fooled Eclipse.

“Where you think I've been this past month or so? You've been so busy, Kyle, that I had plenty of time to hang out with the girls. Not at all like you boys, you know! I learned a lot. Including how to dance.” Keith paused. “Sure beats building bikes, or stripping that damn car with Tweek and Craig!”

“Bebe and them taught you how to dance?” Kyle managed.

“No, Nicole had Token come over, and they taught me.”

“You danced with TOKEN?!” Kyle spluttered.

“Well, a girl's gotta learn, doesn't she? At least, a-girl-for-now, let's say?” Keith smiled. “Besides, I couldn't let you be dateless for your big day, could I? How would that have looked?”

“Not too good,” Kyle had to admit. “They did a great job with the makeup?” He offered awkwardly.

“Yeah, Butters is pretty good at that,” Keith/Kelly grinned.

“BUTTERS?!” Kyle squeaked again.

“Well, just in case, I mean, Tweek and Craig are willing to risk it here, but Butters should be back in a moment.”

“What'r they up to?” Kyle asked darkly.

“You'll see,” Keith smiled, as the dance finally ended.

There was much applause, the spotlight was still on them, and Kyle realized that he couldn't be sure what he was feeling. He found his own face very close to 'Kelly's', and he could smell the perfume that must have been borrowed from Bebe as well.

“Is it tradition to kiss the girl?” 'Kelly' asked.

And they did.

“Holy shit, Dudes!” Stan gasped, as there was more applause.

“Oh, Gerald, we have to find out who this girl is!” Sheila declared, bursting into tears.

When it was over, others took the floor. Kyle knew that at ceremonies like this, things would eventually get wild. After some wine, some more food, and some more wine, things always loosened up. He hoped that they just didn't get loose enough to fall apart. After all, the bulk of his relatives were from Jersey! And to his own horror, Kyle felt the Kyley-B persona beginning to stir somewhere deep inside of him.

“This could easily turn into a bash-mitzvah, with one wrong insult at the wrong time,” Kyle told himself, still puzzling over the fact that he'd just danced with, and kissed, his foster sibling in disguise.

His worries were forgotten, though, when the next dance began to play. As Kyle turned, with 'Kelly' leading him back to the dance floor, he saw a rather pretty blonde in a tight white dress taking the floor with Kenny. Again, Kyle knew “that girl.”

“ _Marjorine_?!” Kyle exhaled.

“Don't have a heart attack, your first day as a man, Kyle,” Bebe patted his shoulder, as she and Clyde passed them by. In fact, Kyle had no idea that Clyde could dance. He wondered if he'd had lessons too. He wondered if Token had taught Clyde as well, as he watched Token and Nicole moving gracefully around the floor. He could almost hear Cartman's voice saying, “Of course he can dance, he's black!”

“Figured we'd best not push our luck,” Kenny said, as the couples passed on the dance floor.

“You, uhm, pass pretty good, there, Butters?” Kyle offered lamely.

“Oh, this old thing? Just something Wendy threw off from when she was the flower girl in a wedding,” Marjorine laughed, 'her' vocal inflections perfect.

“Bit heavy on the eye shadow?” Kelly/Keith pointed out. “But he really doesn't have the hips for it.”

“Ya think?” Kyle blushed again.

“Bebe says you have a nice ass,” Kelly reminded him.

“HEY!” Kyle gasped.

“Gerald, who's that pretty girl dancing with Kenneth?” Sheila asked, as they passed by.

Gerald, of course, had no idea. “I guess we don't know many of the girls, since Kyle doesn't seem to have discovered them yet, Dear? Who's that man over there, talking to Chef? The fellow in the light blue jacket? He looks familiar.”

“I'm not sure, but I swear I've seen that man with the curly gray hair before,” Sheila observed, “Is that your uncle Murray?”

“I thought it was your uncle Ben?” Gerald replied, as they shrugged, smiled, and danced on. “He's gotta be a relative, with that schnoz, though!”

“I remember _your_ Bar Mitzvah, Gerald!” Sheila said, sounding sly.

Kyle noticed how happy they looked as they passed.

“And how you took Monica Peterson outside, and beat her up?” Gerald laughed.

“Damn straight, I did!” Sheila declared. “No one moves in on S-Wow-Titty-Bang's man!”

When that dance was over, the loud snap of circuit breakers announced the spotlights coming on. When the applause settled, and Kyle and the gang had returned to their tables, a figure in white appeared as the first spotlight swept to the far end of the hall.

“What the fuck?” Stan gasped.

They all looked to see a boy with wild, blond hair standing in a confrontational pose. His clothing was not a suit, but rather something loose, almost like a tunic over loose, lightweight, white pants. He jerked his head back once, and the other spotlight snapped on.

At the opposite side of the hall, the other spotlight revealed a boy with black hair wearing a tuxedo trimmed in blue accents. He wore a blue yarmulke as well.

Music began to play, a combination of woodwinds and strings, in staccato notes.

The boy in blue put his hands on his hips, cocking his head back, as the two approached one another. A few measured steps, and they paused to glare at one another. Their movements were graceful, but at the same time, looking as if they were sizing one another up for a fight. They would look away, advance, and posture. When they met, they snapped their heads back, almost chin to chin, clasping hands with arms straight out.

Several of the guests gasped.

The rest were stunned into silence as the spotlights joined to shine down upon their dance.

As they thrust out their joined hands, arms straight, they looked away, then sharply back at one another. They did this a few times, then both snapped their heads backward.

They then began to move across the floor, at pace.

“TWEEK AND CRAIG?!” Kyle gasped again.

“Surprise!” Token, Clyde, and Jimmy yelled.

Several of Kyle's older East Coast relatives fainted. So did the Rabbi.

As the couple stopped to turn back, they faced one another again, looking as if they might kiss. Then they began the 'run' back across the dance floor, perfectly in time with the music. A high step, a dip, a lean back, another few steps, and they repeated the moves.

Then Tweek spun away, bending down over a table vase, still holding Craig's hand, to grasp a red rose in his teeth.

He faced Craig again, and the dance resumed.

Those who hadn't fainted from shock, or who weren't totally aghast, applauded.

“THE TANGO?!” Kyle exclaimed.

“We w-wanted to s-surprise you!” Jimmy offered, clapping, and nearly falling over as Token caught him.

“You did _that_!” Kyle admitted, still unable to take his eyes off the couple.

As the music reached its crescendo, the lights followed the boys to the far end of the hall, where they disappeared into the shadows. The lights snapped off, the normal lighting came back up, but the boys were gone.

Kyle looked around to see Kelly and Marjorine applauding, smiling, and he couldn't help but feel warm.

“Told you I didn't wanna spoil it,” one of those other Kyles whispered in his head.

“L-Ladies and Germs, if I c-could have y-your attention p-pl-pleeeee-puh-puh-leeeeese?” Jimmy's voice then came across the speakers. There was applause and laughter. “Wow! What a t-t-terrific audience!” Jimmy began.

“Time for the celebrity roast,” that other Kyle told Kyle-Prime.

“It's gonna be a lonnnnng night,” Kyle groaned, noticing that Kelly had slipped away.

“Miss me?” Keith asked, returning to the table in 'his' suit, just as Jimmy was getting warmed up.

“Yeah, I kinda do,” Kyle sighed.

“You know, I could sneak us a glass of champagne?” Stan offered. “Kyle?”

*

“Kyle?” Stan asked, giving Kyle a shake. “C'mon, the fish is done. You fell asleep again, Dude!”

“Sorry,” Kyle offered, “I...I think I was at my Bar Mitzvah again? Dreaming?”

“I think you better eat, check your insulin pump, and hit the sleeping bag,” Stan advised, giving him a hand up. “You said you didn't want a busy summer?”

“What? No, right, no,” Kyle agreed, as in that touch, a feeling of security and warmth that he'd never known before came over him.

Kyle looked at Stan.

 _His eyes are blue!_ Kyle realized, knowing that at least one thing – one of the tragedies of their future – was going to work out all right.

“You OK, Kyle?” Stan asked, steadying him.

“Yeah, fine,” Kyle replied, but he leaned heavily upon his best friend, a gesture not lost on Stan.

 _No, I've felt this before,_ Kyle realized, _At the Bar Mitzvah, when I kissed Kelly!_

As they sat around the fire eating, the light began to fade. The sky turned orange and red, and the shadows deepened. Still, the evening was warm and humid, somewhat uncomfortable.

“I'll take first watch, since I'm the odd man out,” Stan offered, giving Butters and Kenny a look. “And you two, keep it down. Kyle's tired, he needs to sleep!”

“Us?” Kenny feigned innocence.

“You!” Stan repeated, checking his pistol.

“You think that pea shooter will stop a bear?” Kenny asked.

“It will, seeing as how it's got illegal, explosive incendiaries in it,” Stan assured him. “Uncle Jimbo made them special!”

“And people say Mysterion is dangerous!” Kenny grinned, as he and Butters retired to their tent.

“I don't wanna know,” Stan decided, listening to the muffled sounds later coming from that tent.

Around midnight, Kenny relieved Stan. As the night was still somewhat sticky, Kenny hadn't bothered to dress. Stan gave a sniff as he poked the fire.

“More bug spray?”

“Among other things,” Kenny replied, declining the gun. Stan noted Mysterion's utility belt around Kenny's waist, as well a holster for Kenny's usual sidearm. “Any critters?”

“Just a hungry skunk with her kittens, I fed her some fish,” Stan nodded, as the fire grew back up.

“I could stay here forever,” Kenny mused, as Stan stripped off, hanging his sweaty clothes on a low branch. “Don't worry about Leo, he's out cold.”

“'night,” Stan mumbled, as he went into the tent.

As he sat by the fire, it wasn't long before Kenny's mind began to wander. He remembered the first camping trip with his friends. He remembered Stan's jealousy at how Jimbo had liked him. And of course, he remembered being killed.

“Never mind the fucking volcano,” Kenny whispered to himself, wondering what other creatures, the likes of Scuzzlebutt, might be lurking in those mountains. He sat quietly, listening to the frogs, crickets, owls, and such.

Sometime after two, Kyle came out to relieve Kenny. As he stepped into the firelight, Kenny could see that Kyle had removed his “Captain Diabetes” setup, as Kyle called it.

“Too hot for PJ's?” Kenny smiled.

“Yeah,” Kyle shrugged.

“Spit it out, Kyle,” Kenny suggested.

“I kissed Keith, when they were being Kelly, at my party,” Kyle reminded him.

“I noticed,” Kenny leered at him. “And?”

“I think I liked it,” Kyle snorted.

“Finally get you all hot and bothered?” Kenny grinned.

“No, just kinda warm,” Kyle admitted. “Kenny, can I ask you something?”

Kenny held out his hands.

“Is sex really all that great?” Kyle blurted.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Kenny gasped.

“Sorry,” Kyle looked away.

Eventually, as the chorus of crickets grew awkward, Kenny said, “Kyle, asking me that, is like asking me if the sky's blue. There's no way to know if what I see is the same color you see, even though we're both trained to call it 'sky-blue'.”

“I just don't get it,” Kyle sighed.

“You kissed Kelly, rather, Keith, didn't you? Don't you two sleep together?” Kenny asked.

“Yeah, we _sleep,_ ” Kyle reminded him.

“So, you don't get an erection, you don't get anxious, you don't get hot or shaky when you're all cuddly?”

“No,” Kyle replied.

“And kissing Stan that one time didn't do it?”

“No,” Kyle repeated.

“Kyle, in my professional opinion, I think you're dead,” Kenny palmed his face. “OK, OK, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. But it's fine to be asexual, Dude! And it's not like puberty's hit you that hard yet?”

“I'm just a late bloomer, I know, I know,” Kyle snorted in disgust. “But you told me that I -”

“That was another future, and another Kyle, without Keith – or Stan!” Kenny reminded him, moving to put his arm over Kyle's shoulders.

“I've know a lot of older me's,” Kyle then said, “And they all seem so...lonely? I dunno? Detached?”

“Could be that awesome power you've got,” Kenny supplied.

“Maybe,” Kyle admitted. “I dunno if that's it or not.” Kyle paused, exhaling hard. “Kenny, I just don't _feel_ right, you know?”

Kenny laughed. “Dude, try being nearly eighteen, and then finding yourself in a shrimpy little twelve year old body! So much for drinkin', smokin', and havin' wild sex!”

“Makes it kinda hard to party,” Kyle nodded, grinning.

“I never should have started,” Kenny admitted, “I was pegged for a burnout, and that's exactly what I became.”

“Until Craig? And Tweek?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah.” Kenny put his hand under Kyle's smooth chin, and turned Kyle to face him. “You're thinking about using your powers to transition? Into what, then?” Kenny asked. “Do you even know? Remember when you wanted to be a tall, black kid?”

“Yeah,” Kyle snickered, “Wasn't _that_ a horrible episode?”

“It was gross, and you almost lost your legs,” Kenny reminded him, “I think that something of Eclipse must have been watching over you, even back then, to put you back the way you were supposed to be!”

“ _Is_ this how I'm supposed to be?” Kyle countered. “I mean, look at me, Kenny! Who'd call _this_ a man?”

“You're adorable,” Kenny assured him. “I think you should give it more time.”

“Tweek said he knew he was gay, when he was like eight,” Kyle then said. “So did Craig. And Al says that almost all non-hetero kids know it from an early age. Even Cait said that trans-kids know it, too.” Kyle paused. He poked the fire, sending embers into the sky.

“You've experimented, then? With what? Making your little toe disappear?” Kenny guessed.

Kyle held up his left hand. As Kenny watched, Kyle's pinky finger turned snowy, like an old analog TV with a fuzzy picture. The finger faded, and then was gone, leaving Kyle with a perfect three-fingered hand and no wound. Kyle then closed his fist, and when he opened it, a shimmering finger reappeared, forming back into a full one.

“I dunno where it goes, but I can bring it back,” Kyle assured him.

“Can you make pointy elf ears too?” Kenny grinned.

“Very funny!” Kyle sniffed.

“So why don't you study up on pancreases, and fix yours?” Kenny asked. “I saw the Gray's Anatomy book in your pack? What are you playing at, Kyle?”

Then it hit him.

“You're thinking about using your Eclipse powers to fix Tweek's heart?” Kenny gasped.

“Matter is matter, it can't be destroyed, only reformed,” Kyle told him. “Move some atoms around, and you have a different chemical. Move those chemicals around, and you have elements. Combine four of them, and you've got DNA. Then you've got life. From there, it's no different than changing a tire on a car.”

“Someone needs to take those books away from you,” Kenny told him, his voice dark. “Leave Tweek to the heart surgeons. And for what it's worth, Kyle, you _weren't_ an agender, physically, in my futures.”

“But I was miserable, closed off, you said?”

“Yeah,” Kenny had to admit. “I felt sorry for you, Kyle. I mean, you were like an academic drone or something.”

“Go to bed, Kenny. Thanks,” Kyle then decided.

Kenny didn't say any more. He simply got up, left the pistol, and went to Kyle's tent so as not to disturb Stan.

Kyle sat by the fire for a long time. Despite his powers, and despite the soft sounds of his friends sleeping, he felt so utterly alone. Now and again, another Kyle would 'call', but Kyle-Prime dismissed them.

“This is something that I have to do – alone,” Kyle decided, as he got up and walked towards lake's beach of smoothed pebbles. Faint moonlight mixed with firelight on the surface of the water, so still that it was like looking into a dark mirror. Pausing for only a moment to take note of the pebbles under his bare feet, Kyle waded out into the cold water. “Just like the water shaped those pebbles,” he mumbled.

As his body began to disappear deeper beneath the surface, his feet, his shins, his thighs, Kyle began to pixelate. The cold of the water was replaced by that now-familiar feeling of everything-and-nothing all at once, and Kyle couldn't help but think of what he was doing as some sort of bizarre, metaphysical baptism.

He disappeared beneath the surface.

As the water closed over his head, Kyle fixed the image of Keith in his mind.

No bubbles rose.

The ripples spread out, eventually lapping up on the pebbly beach.

Then the ripples were gone.

So was Kyle.

But the pebbles remained, only very slightly altered by those ripples.

A moment later, and Keith emerged from the tent. He saw no one at the campfire, but looking out over the lake, he saw...something.

Keith blinked.

There was someone rising up out of the water, then, unbelievably, standing on top of it.

“Kyle?” Keith asked, his voice soft so as not to wake the others.

“I think so, _now_ ,” Kyle's voice replied, as the humanoid form moved towards Keith, walking on the water.

As he stepped off the beach and into the firelight, Kyle drew in a deep breath. He spread his arms, leaning his head back and stretching, parting his feet to steady himself.

To Keith, it certainly looked like Kyle: same short red hair, same eyes, same nose...

Then Keith inhaled sharply, his eyes widening at the form before him that showed no outward signs of gender.

“Ohhhhh, Kyle?” Keith wondered, “What _have_ you done?”

“I think this is right. It _feels_ right,” Kyle assured his brother, pulling Keith into a hug. “Finally!”

 


	32. Stan, Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last update for a while, as my next busy spell is starting with work for the fall sports season. I never intended for this behemoth to grow to the size it has, but here it is.  
> In this chapter, the boys talk about sex, gender, and identity. PC Principal reveals a secret, as he lends his advice to help aid Stan's confusion. Stan and Kyle begin to understand their differences and concerns, while Keith hopes that the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place as summer vacation comes to an end.  
> On a side note, Craig talks to Tweek briefly about a disastrous day-trip with his homophobic uncle.  
> So when the day is done, and it's summer, what's there to do?  
> Go to Tweek's for refreshments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter discusses mental and physical gender, concerning minors. There is no sex. There is talk about sex. There is also mention of homophobia, genderphobia (?) and such. The subjects of gender correction surgery and lack of gender are also (briefly) mentioned. Concern over self-harm and suicide are also mentioned, briefly. There are a few mentions of violence, but no fight scenes this time.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**32**

**Stan, Finally**

*****

During that summer between the seventh and eighth grades, Stan Marsh was having a hard time coping with his situation. And while Stan knew this himself (albeit with a great deal of help from Kyle Broflovski), it really didn't make things any easier for him. For Stan, it was like turning 10 all over again – only about a million times worse. Added to that, Stan also had to cope with the reality that his “super best friend” was indeed a genuine superhero – a metahuman – and that Kyle wasn't the only one. In fact, with his ability to now remember altered timelines, Stan was, himself, sort of a metahuman. For someone like him, who dealt with things like tools, building, and all that he could see and touch, this was proving especially difficult to process. Never mind the fact that Stan himself had been altered right along with the timeline, until Kyle and the others had brought him in on it. This weighed heavily upon Stan's mind, and so he did what he usually did when so disturbed: he went to Tweek's for coffee and pastry.

It was, perhaps, Butters that clarified it for him with one simple, offhanded statement: “Well, uhm, Stan, us mere humans just have to, you know, get over it, and believe what's right in front of us, Buddy!”

“I guess so,” Stan shrugged. “I just...” Stan tried to collect his thoughts, rolling his eyes. “I just have a hard time with all this sci-fi stuff, you know? Maybe I'm like Craig, like Keith said, and I can't think in four dimensions?”

“That was Marty in _**Back to the Future**_ ,” Keith grinned, “But you're right about Craig. He nearly blew his cerebral cortex, I think!”

“Well us mere mortals just have to cope, I guess?” Stan muttered.

“Trust me, Stan, you _don't_ want this curse,” Kenny muttered, looking over the rim of his cup, and glancing sideways at Tweek, who was currently checking a coffee urn. In fact, with The Big Dick (as the boys all referred to Tweek's dad) out of the way, Tweek's shoppe had become their favorite hangout that summer and was usually quite busy. In fact, with Richard gone, business was better than ever.

“OK, then remind me again what's so damn important about the whole timeline revolving around Tweek and Craig, and why we just can't go back in time a couple of years, and destroy the car? Or do it now? I mean, things are pretty rosy for us all right now, aren't they?” He looked from Keith to Kyle. “Wouldn't that fix everything?”

“It would _blow_ everything,” Kenny corrected him, “Which is why we're not doing it. We've discussed this, remember?”

“Stan,” Kyle replied, keeping his voice down so that Tweek wouldn't hear, “The ripples, remember? The pond analogy? The bigger the rock you throw into the water, the bigger the ripples, and the more changes on the shore you get. And Red Racer, I guess, is a pretty big rock!” Kyle explained yet again, waiting.

When Stan didn't immediately answer, instead taking a long drink, Kyle realized that the _Creek Paradox_ – as they'd begun to call it – was not all that was bothering his friend.

“It's me, isn't it?” Kyle asked softly. “You're bothered by what I did to myself?”

Stan made an indelicate sound and got up so fast that he knocked his chair over. He went to the counter and refilled his coffee. As Captain Janeway on _**Star Trek: Voyager**_ might have ordered, Stan liked “Coffee, black!”

“I can get that for you, Stan?” Tweek offered.

“It's OK, Tweek, you've got stuff to do,” Stan assured him. “So, what's Craig up to today?”

Tweek rolled his eyes and adjusted his hairband. Stan noticed that he seemed tense again. “In Denver with his uh-UNcle, getting some OBscure part for the 'Vette. I TOLD him, WHY don't you just order it ONline, but NO! He has to have it NOW, he says!” Tweek complained. “What the HELL _are_ MUFFler bearings, ANYway?”

Stan snorted and shot iced coffee out his nose. Tweek pounded his back as Stan coughed, while at the same time laughing at Tweek's ignorance of car parts. There was no such thing as 'muffler bearings', which told Stan that Craig was off on some other errand.

“And if it's not that, he's working on the car, or mowing yards, or fixing small engines for people,” Tweek added with a sigh. “We've been so busy that we don't see much of each other lately.”

“Sucks to be a working man,” Stan reminded him, patting his arm, and noting that Tweek seemed be backsliding, more nervous and jumpy again. “So, you OK?”

“Yeah,” Tweek said, more softly, and without squeaking, “I guess I should be thrilled with my last checkup, it was good, but-”

“But what?” Stan cut in, when Tweek paused. “Your heart's still OK, right?”

Tweek nodded. “It's the dreams, man!” Tweek whispered, nearly pulling Stan over the counter by his collar. He trembled just a bit, his eyes darting this way and that, as if he were afraid that someone might be eavesdropping. “It's like _The Stand_ , or something! But it's not some old, African-American lady in a cornfield! It's...it's Kenny on a highway!”

“You're having dreams about Kenny on a highway?” Stan repeated it back, loudly enough for the others to hear.

“Uh oh,” Butters whispered.

“The highway? Like where we were dreaming of? Trans-Time?” Kenny asked Keith.

“Maybe. He's pretty soaked in chronoton particles, you know,” Keith mused, “But that's no guarantee that they'll trigger.”

“Make sure they don't,” Kenny suggested.

“Yeah, they started around Valentine's Day, when me and Craig were-” Tweek blushed. “Never mind that! That's when the dreams started. I keep having dreams about high school, and my Grandpa's car – the Lincoln – and then we always end up out on some highway at night!”

“Dreams are just dreams, Tweek,” Stan assured him, but not sounding convinced, “I wouldn't worry about it.” _But he's dreaming about the Lincoln now, and not the 'Vette?_

“Yeah,” Tweek nodded, “You guys need anything else?”

“We're good!” Kyle called back, as Stan returned to the table. “How's Tweek?”

“Tweeky,” Stan replied, “I swear, he hasn't stopped cleaning since we got here. You could eat off the floor! If Craig doesn't get back-”

“Stan, you can't keep evading this,” Keith interrupted. “We didn't come to talk about Tweek.”

“I know, I _know_!” Stan grumbled.

“It ain't easy, I know,” Butters put in, “Sometimes I dunno if I'm comin' or goin'! I think something's gonna happen, but then it doesn't!”

“I don't think it's _just_ that,” Kenny offered.

“Stan do you trust me?” Kyle then asked.

“Of course I do!” Stan exclaimed, “You know that! How can you ask me that, Kyle, after all we've been through together?”

“Then talk to me, Stan,” Kyle said softly, but when he reached for Stan's hand, Stan pulled it back. Kyle sighed.

“So is it homophobia, genderphobia, panophobia? Or something more Freudian?” Keith asked. “I mean, you didn't seem too thrilled to meet up here, Stan. Ever since the camping trip, you've been-”

“ _Just_ -” Stan interrupted, holding up a hand, but his face did go pink.

“I think it's Kyle-o-phobia,” Butters offered, giving a little twitch as he finished his drink. He nudged Kyle's arm. “You gotta admit, it's pretty freaky!” Butters added. He then looked at Keith. “But I think it's kinda cool, too.”

“So am I freaky, then, Stan?” Keith asked, running a hand over their bald head.

“Well, no! You're cool!” Butters replied.

“What he said,” Stan nodded at Butters.

“What's cool about me, then, Stan?” Keith countered, “Being bald? From the future? Being an agender?”

“You're just YOU!” Stan answered, smiling a forced smile.

“Yeah, and Kyle's just Kyle,” Keith reminded them, looking back at Stan. “In fact, he's still _Kyle_.”

“More or less,” Kenny had to snicker, and Kyle punched his arm.

“HEY!”

“It didn't bother you, Stan, that time I phased out, when we were collecting teeth with Loogie, you know,” Kyle reminded Stan.

“Yeah? Well _that_ time, you didn't turn yourself into a...a-” Stan waved a hand at Keith, “...Drone!” Stan put his hands over his face and made an indelicate sound. “Look, Keith, I didn't mean... I'm sorry, that came out wrong! I mean, for God's sake, Kyle! You got rid of your...you _know_?” Stan fudged. He pointed at his lap and shuddered.

In his mind, Stan could see Kyle on that morning at the mountain lake, standing there naked on the pebbly shore with his back to the campsite. They called it a “polar bear swim,” jumping into that cold water first thing in the morning, seeing who could stand it the longest. He could remember coming up behind Kyle, standing beside him for a while, then having to do a double-take when Kyle had turned to face him. Stan hadn't noticed the difference at first. But when he had, his reaction had been one of total shock.

Looking back, Stan wasn't proud of having screamed and fallen over backwards at the sight of his seemingly emasculated friend.

“You're OK with President Cait, you're OK with me,” Keith reminded him yet again, “But Kyle bothers you?”

“What if I'd told you I wanted to transition to being a girl?” Kyle asked, and Stan once again felt ashamed of himself. He knew full well that he shouldn't feel that way, yet he did. “Would you have been OK with that? What if Wendy wanted to be Wendell full time?”

“Well it's not like kids our age can get transitional surgery!” Stan blurted.

“So _that's_ it then? With my powers, and what I did to myself, _that's_ what's freaking you out?” Kyle asked, as his little finger vanished and came back.

“STOP THAT!” Stan exclaimed loudly.

“ALL of you vanished, when I teleported us to the lake,” Kyle reminded him.

“Not anxious to do _that_ again,” Butters mumbled.

“I...I guess I don't do this gender thing so good,” Stan admitted, “It was bad enough when we had the whole bathroom thing that Cartman started, but _you_?” Stan held out his hands. “You always said you liked being a 'dirty, nasty, little boy', or something like that?”

“You didn't know where you belonged back then, Stan,” Kenny reminded him, “But it's a pretty safe bet that you're cut out to be a heterosexual cismale. Just deal with it,” Kenny grinned deviously, “And that's OK! I mean, without guys like you, Humanity would go extinct!”

“Not exactly,” Keith fudged, glancing at Tweek. “I mean, I was conceived with a whole cabinet full of dishes and beakers and stuff, and a pretty big bio-engineering staff!”

“Not helping,” Kyle put in. He looked back at Stan. “If I make you uneasy, Stan, just tell me. Don't try and dodge us, though, OK? Just tell me how you feel, all right?”

“It's not like the disappearing finger trick,” Stan shrugged, finding himself unable to face Kyle, “I mean, you made your … genitals … disappear, OK?! How do you _think_ that's gonna make me feel? And how are you gonna _explain_ that in the showers after gym class? I mean, it's...it's...terrifying, OK?” Stan squeaked, his voice cracking, and sounding silly.

“Well, Kyle, at least _you_ won't go through a Peter Brady phase, since your voice won't change now,” Kenny put in.

“Not helping,” Kyle repeated, elbowing Kenny's ribs on the good side.

“Puberty ain't much fun, I've done it twice now!” Kenny grinned.

“How'd you feel about Trent Boyette, then?” Keith asked, “After what Kyle did to him in nursery school?”

“Mostly, I try to not think about Trent,” Stan admitted, “Because the Trent I mostly remember still scares the shit outta me!”

“Trent's a sweet kid,” Kenny reminded them.

“Yeah, but he damn near killed me!” Butters added, “But then again, he didn't?”

“Not after I went back and smashed his balls,” Kyle mumbled. “Which I _didn't_ mean to do!”

“Which turned his life around, and in turn, saved Pip's life somehow,” Keith reminded them all, “And now instead of being locked up for life, probably, Trent's at Winchester Cathedral, with Pip, and getting rich off of music and concert ticket sales. You did him a favor, Kyle.” He looked at Stan again. “I guess, like you, Stan, as a Drone, I can't understand this obsession with what's between your legs versus how you present. Why does anyone _care_?!” Keith threw up their hands.

“Just like you did _yourself_ a favor, Kyle,” Kenny told him flatly, getting up to refill his iced coffee. “I've been through this twice already, people,” Kenny reminded them yet again, “And both times, male-Kyle was a train wreck, OK? And so was Butters! Trust me, I don't think this is going to turn out any worse than those other times! If Kyle wants to be agender, or a _eunuch_ – that's the proper archaic term – then where's the harm in it?”

Just then, the door bells jingled and PC Principal walked in. He looked over his Oakley sunglasses, all around, as if he were afraid of being seen. When he saw the gang, he flinched.

“Busted,” Kenny snickered, as he already knew from his others futures.

“Don't you _even_ – McCormick!” PC Principal warned him.

“ME?!” Kenny smiled innocently. “Your dirty little secret is safe with us, sir!” Kenny laughed.

“Ohhhhh?” Stan wondered, distracted by this development.

“I only do it a couple'a times a week, and I can quit!” The man assured them, as Tweek was wrapping up a cream horn to go with the large mixed coffee drink.

“Full fat lard, whole heavy cream, real sugar, to go,” Tweek also smiled, ringing it up. “With a side of insulin and Lipitor, sir?”

“We do NOT tell my wife this, GOT THAT?” PC Principal asked.

“Seriously?” Stan wondered, making a confused face as the man sat down at their table.

“OK, what's goin' on here, Bros? My PC-Sense is tingling?” PC Principal asked, “Something tells me this is gonna be a zinger, am I right?”

“How does he _do_ that?” Butters wondered.

“We were just discussing, you know,” Stan reluctantly explained, “Gender identity, sexuality, and that stuff.”

“And?” PC Principal prompted him.

“Sir, I just don't get how lack of gender can _be_ a gender, I guess?” Stan admitted.

“Well, if one decides not to choose, that's also their choice,” PC Principal explained. “It's called 'nonbinary', and it's perfectly valid. Take Keith here, for instance, if I may, Keith?”

Keith nodded.

“I'm going that route,” Kyle told him. “I just don't think that 'male' is my correct...identity, sir?”

“Well, congratulations!” PC Principal offered his hand. Kyle took it. “So, right down the middle, huh?”

“I think I might be leaning a _bit_ more towards male, sir,” Kyle answered. “I mean, I really can't see me wearing a skirt.”

“A _bit_?” Stan asked again, sounding sarcastic.

“You're bothered by this, Stanley?” PC Principal asked him, “And I can understand that. If I may, and it's perfectly fine, Bro, to say that guys like us are the ones that are gonna have the hardest time dealing with this subject. I'll admit, it took me some time to learn and adapt. We've gone over this in Sex Ed, remember? And we'll go over it again, and more of it, when school starts!” He looked back at Kyle. “You know, the definitions of sex and gender, I'll wager, are going to change soon to include all the aspects of the nonbinary, Bro. You're OK with that diminutive, Kyle?”

“Whatever you're OK with, sir,” Kyle nodded, “I don't really care about pronouns and stuff.”

“See? Now this shit's important,” PC Principal told them, “What if Kyle wanted to transition to female?”

“We talked about that, sir,” Stan stated, “I'm just having a hard time with 'nonbinary'. I'm sorry,” Stan offered, “I guess I just don't understand.”

“You don't have to _understand_ it, so long as you _accept_ it,” PC Principal reminded him. “Actually, the nonbinary has been around for most of recorded history. Physically emasculated males were often considered a different gender by many cultures. Some still are, like the Indian Hijrah. In some cultures, they were very important, too. Many of them, but not all of them, commanded a great deal of respect.” He turned back to Kyle. “You're OK with this, too, Bro? You're not depressed, or planning to harm yourself? You know the rates of suicide and self-harm for transgender kids is just _off_ the charts? You seeing a therapist, or a doctor?” He took Kyle's hand again. “You know we're here for you, right? Any problems, and you just come to us!”

“I haven't really come out with it, but to some of my friends here,” Kyle admitted. “I'm not sure how they'll take it, sir.”

“They take Keith all right, don't they? Because if they _don't_ , **I'll break their legs**!” PC Principal exclaimed, getting worked up. He then looked over his sunglasses at Keith. “I don't pretend to know about all this Time Refugee culture, Bro, but I think that Kyle's gonna need your full support, Keith. This damn town, I swear!” The man grumbled, “Where else would shit like this happen?” He thought for a moment. “I think we need to have a unit on this in Social Studies, Bro's! Nonbinary as gender in history!”

The boys all groaned.

“It's cool, sir,” Keith assured him, “Everyone in class knows what I am, anyway. They've all been very understanding.”

“It's what's up here, Stanley,” PC Principal reminded him, tapping his own forehead, “That matters! And when that doesn't match the body you're born with, that's where the problems start. Now, for us, I'm assuming that the attraction caused by the heterosexual cismale mindset matches that body _you're_ in?”

“I think things are matching up pretty good so far, sir,” Stan replied. _You have no idea how well they match!_ Stan thought, remembering seeing Kyle on that beach again. _I'll give him one thing, when he comes out, he comes OUT!_

Tweek, who'd been listening in, came over to check for refills and such, when he'd noticed that PC Principal had eaten his cream horn.

“You're nonbinary now, Kyle?” Tweek asked. “That's cool!” He smiled. “Anything else, sir?”

“It's like _Breaking Bad_ , but with pastries! The wife would murder me, if she knew this!” PC Principal smirked, hiding the new bag under the table. He looked at Tweek. “So, you doin' OK, Bro?”

“I guess,” Tweek sighed, as he repeated what he'd told Stan earlier.

“Tweek, would it be all right if I used you as example?” PC Principal asked.

“Uh, sure?”

“OK, then. You remember how nervous you and Craig were, when those girls were drawing those yaoi pictures of you guys?” The man asked.

“How could I forget?” Tweek twitched.

“And you both sat there in my office, and told me you weren't gay?”

Tweek nodded.

“Why'd you do that, Tweek?”

“B-because we were scared to come out,” Tweek replied, “At least, _I_ was. I knew I was gay, I guess I was just denying it. I dunno if Craig realized that he was or not, but he was scared too. I mean, l-look at how his dad was, at first?” Tweek grabbed a chair from the next table and sat. “You know, we didn't want all the gay jokes guys make? And we didn't wanna be made fun of, or maybe even get beat up.”

Kenny glanced at Kyle. From Kenny's perspective, at least, he'd stopped more than one attempt on Tweek and Craig by 'fag-bashers', as it was commonly called amongst the 'rednecks'. The look that Kyle returned told Kenny that he understood, and probably knew about those other aborted futures as well. Still, Kenny had to suppress a grin at the memory of Cartman, tied naked to a tree, out by the boys' favorite spot at Stark's Pond. Then again, Mysterion had been the only local superhero left in those futures, and there were only a small handful of bashers that they had to worry about.

“But you see, now that Tweek and Craig are out, it's all good,” PC Principal explained, “And hopefully, those of any persuasion or gender can get the same kind of acceptance now.” He looked back at Keith. “So long as you're cool with who _you_ are! Thanks, Tweek.” He turned back to Stan. “The same goes for you, Marsh. If you need to talk, you know where we are.”

“Yeah, at my house,” Butters grinned.

“And don't be late for dinner!” PC Principal reminded him, getting up to go.

“I can't believe you actually have him as a boarder,” Stan wondered, watching Butters buffing his glasses on his on shirt.

“He's really cool, once you get to know him,” Butters shrugged. “It's like, well, having real parents.”

The boys all nodded, as they knew how Butters had been treated in the past by his own parents.

“So how do you think _your_ parents are gonna take this, Kyle?” Kenny asked.

Kyle shrugged. “It's not like they see me naked, and I don't really see me wearing girls' clothes, so I doubt they'll notice.”

“I'm not even sure that they've noticed me yet,” Keith added.

“So you're still presenting as a boy, then?” Stan wondered, looking even more confused.

“Nothing wrong with presenting as a girl,” Keith shrugged.

“You were damn convincing at the Bar Mitzvah,” Kenny added.

“Now _that_ was confusing!” Butters admitted.

“Tell me about it,” Kyle agreed. “It's _all_ pretty confusing!”

“You mean _you_ don't get it either?” Stan gasped.

“No?” Kyle replied, “Not really. You just sorta go with it, I guess?”

“Oh!” Stan exclaimed. “Now I _really_ don't get it!”

“So what are we doing with the rest of the day?” Kenny asked, hoping to change the subject.

“What are we doing with the rest of the summer?” Stan replied.

“Working,” Tweek groaned, “If it's not here, it's Craig's garage.”

“You can't work _all_ summer, Tweek,” Kyle told him. “Maybe you and Craig and those guys should, like, go on a camping trip?”

*

Indeed, there was more to do that summer than work. At the insistence of Stan's gang, Craig and those guys followed their advice and went camping as well. There were some concerns, though, such as how Jimmy was going to hike up a mountain trail. Clyde's father was worried that something (anything) could happen to him. Token's parents had to plan a shopping trip for equipment, namely an ATV for Jimmy, whose parents seemed to be the only ones who weren't concerned. Helen Tweak was afraid that her son would be eaten by a bear, which nearly convinced Tweek to not go.

In the case of Craig Tucker, however, it wasn't the parents – it was the boy.

“I can't take a week off!” Craig protested, sliding out from under Red Racer on his favorite car creeper, “I've got a half-dozen gas weed-whackers to rebuild, not to mention a couple chainsaws, and – and it's business!”

“But Kyle says it's just like my happy place,” Tweek wheedled, having just come from closing up the shoppe.

“Are there _bears_ in your happy place? Or cougars?” Craig countered.

“You never did tell me what happened in Denver, and by the way,” Tweek punched his arm, “Stan says there's no such thing as muffler bearings!”

Craig blushed. “Uncle Skeeter took me to this indoor shooting range, and the Broncos museum, and a couple'a gun shops, then Hooters... it was a nightmare!” Craig explained. “I thought that waitress was gonna molest me!”

“I can see why you didn't wanna tell me,” Tweek conceded.

“We _did_ get a set of cherry bombs for Red Racer, though,” Craig added.

“So it was for car parts?” Tweek asked, “Good! What'r those?”

“Mufflers. I didn't _lie_ ,” Craig defended himself, “I just...”

“What?”

“I should'a known, you know? It's like, I knew Uncle didn't really like me – anymore – and him asking me to go with him? He just wanted to take me out to do 'guy things', I guess. Like he thinks he can make me straight if we eat enough wings and see enough boobs?” Craig groaned.

Tweek shivered. “I hope not!”

“I...I didn't want you to find out,” Craig admitted.

Tweek waited a bit. When Craig didn't go on, he stated, more than asked, “It didn't go so good, between you?”

“No,” Craig muttered, wiping his face on the tail of his filthy T-shirt that might once have been white. “It's just...how he is, I guess. I don't think he meant to be, you know?”

For Tweek, that was all the sign that he needed. He could see how much Craig's uncle had hurt him. Intentional or not, it angered Tweek.

He gave Craig a hand up. “C'mon, you smell like oil and gas, as usual. Let's go in and clean up.”

“Yeah, well, you smell like coffee and cream cheese,” Craig countered, managing a wan smile.

Tweek held up a to-go bag. “C'mon, we can talk about it while – OH MY GOD! - what is THAT, all over your back? BLOOD?”

“Transmission oil, she leaks,” Craig shrugged, “Calm down, Babe. We can talk about camping-”

“-while I'm scrubbing this slimy shit off your back!” Tweek made a face.

“I see you two finally have a night off together?” Mrs. Tucker observed, as the boys came in to find her preparing dinner.

“Kids make more money than I do,” Thomas Tucker commented, glancing over the top of the newspaper.

“Dad,” Craig exhaled the word.

“Don't worry about it, Son. I've _spoken_ with your uncle.”

Both boys noticed the state of Thomas Tucker's knuckles as he turned the page and snapped the paper.

“Suffice it to say, Skeeter won't be the one teaching you to drive a stick, when the car's ready,” Thomas added coolly. He then sniffed. “Cream cheese?”

“For dessert, Thomas!” Laura snatched the bag.

“Oh my gosh, there's frosting stuck in your hair, Tweek!” Tricia pointed out.

“Dad?” Craig asked, but didn't finish the question, glancing at his little sister.

“Go get cleaned up, boys,” Laura cut in, ending _that_ conversation.

*

From the rooftop across the way, a figure in deep purple and black checked his watch.

“I'm about a year early, I think,” Mysterion told himself, staring down at the Tucker garage. “That car's nowhere near running.”

“I don't recall beating Skeeter to a pulp last time,” The Other offered. “Bit dirty of us, wasn't it? After Thomas had a go at him?”

“Mr. Tucker didn't hurt him that bad, he mainly yelled,” Mysterion told himself.

As he turned to go, the air beside him shimmered, then coalesced into a figure in black.

“This didn't happen before?” Eclipse asked. “Craig's uncle taking him to Denver?”

“You should know,” Mysterion replied, shaking his head, “But no, we're moving deeper into new temporal territory.”

“Their camping trip turns out fine,” Eclipse assured him, “Believe it or not, Tweek's taking a junior crossbow, and he's damn good with it.”

“Robin Tweek the Archer, huh?” Mysterion laughed.

“Let's not go there,” Eclipse sighed, “So, what's up for tonight?”

“Got a line on some pothead Sophomores around the highway overpass, according to Zorro,” Mysterion answered.

“Sounds like fun?” Eclipse agreed.

*

As summers went, it was a good one for the boys. Family vacation debacles aside, the general consensus was, as they all gathered at Tweek's for one last, late evening before school started, that the most memorable thing for them all had been camping.

“M-my crutches r-r-rusted!” Jimmy reminded them.

“I can't believe summer's over already,” Clyde lamented, leaning on Token.

“I can't believe Tweek had _explosive_ bolts in his quiver!” Craig exclaimed.

“Yeah, tell _that_ to the park ranger!” Token reminded them all.

“I thought he was a BEAR!” Tweek exclaimed.

“Y-you blew up his AT-T-Veeeeehhhhh,” Jimmy smiled.

“You're welcome,” Kenny put in, as the door bells jingled and Kyle walked in with Keith.

The room went quiet.

“Kyle, what the _hell_ is that on your head?” Clyde gasped.

“Well, at least he's found clothes that _aren't_ orange and green?” Token sort of cringed. “How...earthy?”

“You don't like it?” Kyle asked nervously, touching his red hair, which looked like it had fought a battle with straightener and lost.

“Are those long cargo shorts, or short pants?” Token asked.

“Is this one of those non-binary things?” Stan asked, clapping his friend's back.

“It's a haircut!” Kyle snorted.

“Could'a f-f-fooled me!” Jimmy grinned.

Token pulled out his phone. “Mom? Call Maurice _right_ now! Yeah, it's an emergency!”

“Oh God!” Tweek gasped as well, as he came out of the kitchen and spotted Kyle. Kyle raised an eyebrow at him.

“Tricia?” Kyle asked Tweek, touching his own hair.

“Yeah, _aaaaa_ gain,” Tweek rolled his eyes, as if trying to look up at the man-bun that Tricia had put his hair into.

“OK, I think we're _all_ getting haircuts,” Craig decided. “It's junior high, guys! It's either that, or back to hats!”

“I like hats,” Keith commented.

“You can have one of mine, then,” Craig offered.

“Speak for yourself!” Token shook his head, this Maurice-person having put the boy's hair back into his Congo-style, from when they'd all put on their WTF Wrestling Show.

“Awww,” Clyde groaned, shaking his mop of brown 'haystack'.

“Can I have what they cut off?” Keith joked.

“You know, I remember when I was little, when I was sick, there was this company that made wigs for kids on chemo?” Clyde offered.

“I was joking!” Keith clarified. “Don't those feel...fake?”

“I dunno, I never had one,” Clyde replied. “Guess I never will, now, thanks to you and that future medicine?” He thanked Keith.

“Oh, heeeeere we go,” Token sighed dramatically, as Clyde started to sniffle.

“Craaaaaig,” Tweek fretted.

“It'll be fine, Babe, I'll be right there,” Craig assured him.

 _Tweek had a heart attack, that summer in junior high,_ Kenny then remembered, staring around at the crowd of friends that he did _and_ didn't remember. And yet there were Tweek _and_ Clyde, both healthy, as was Timmy. Butters looked to be in need of a trim as well, his hair having grown out since his mother had been ill and his father gone. Kenny thought it set off Butters' glasses as well, remembering how he'd always before had to harp on Butters to get him to wear them. On top of that, the ophthalmologist had determined that Butters eyes had reached their full size, and that he was ready for a new cornea and lens when they became available. And of course, Keith had never been there before. The rest of them still looked the same as Kenny remembered, and Jimmy even made the same old joke that the only shirts he would wear were yellow ones.

“OK, Morty,” Clyde joked.

“HEY!” Jimmy grinned back at him.

As they were chatting and playfully ripping on one another, the door bells jingled a few more times. It wasn't long before nearly everyone was there, with only a few exceptions.

“Is this a co-ed party?” Lisa Berger asked, as she and Scott Malkinson came in, followed by a few of the other girls.

Kenny noted Scott's new school clothes and trendy haircut. It looked like Lisa had been to the salon. _Puberty can be a good thing,_ Kenny remembered, thinking that he'd surely observed that before.

“Lemme guess, you ladies were late, making lists?” Butters joked.

“Oh, Butters,” Wendy sighed, “That is _sooooo_ fourth grade!” She smiled.

“Hey, you got one more day – shoe sale!” Clyde reminded them all, as Bebe sat on his lap.

“That reminds me, Bill and Fossie won't be joining us this evening, I'm afraid,” Kenny then whispered to Kyle, poorly doing a British accent, as he bent down to wipe at his shoe with a napkin.

“Oh?” Kyle wondered. “And where would they be?”

“Hell's Pass ER,” Kenny shrugged. “I finally got tired of hearing them say 'that's gay'. That, and there was this little escapade when Tweek and Craig were up at-”

“Instead of Cartman?” Kyle interrupted.

Kenny nodded. “The events were the same as before, just different players,” Kenny noted, his eyes moving to glance at the couple, who were still discussing Tweek's pending haircut. “Kyle, you really don't have the arms for that fit of a shirt,” Kenny added.

“Sure he does!” Stan countered, giving Kyle's upper arm a squeeze.

It was at that moment, when Stan touched Kyle's bare arm, that it happened.

Stan's hand was warm, and in that touch, Kyle realized that other than the back-clap, Stan hadn't so much as shaken his hand all summer long.

Not since the lake.

Not since Kyle's transition.

Kyle was suddenly confused. He was frightened. His pants didn't fit right, and his head felt funny. He blinked, but found himself staring at himself. It took only a fraction of a second to realize that he had inadvertently become a Stan-Kyle being, just as when he'd accidentally 'become' Craig Tucker when they'd touched. The same as when he'd viewed Butters' memory of a beating.

And it wasn't only what Stan-Kyle was seeing.

It was what he/they were feeling:

Confusion, mostly. But also affection. A little fear. A _lot_ of worry.

And shame.

 _So much shame!_ Stan-Kyle realized, with a start.

Stan Marsh was ashamed of himself.

_I guess I just don't get it? But this is KYLE - Your best friend, Dumbass! If he doesn't wanna be a boy, that's him, not YOU! Just deal with it. He's still Kyle. He's still...like a brother, and I love him! God, why do I feel like this, then? Why am I scared of him? What if someone finds out what he did to himself? I'll kick their ass, is what! Is that a girls' shirt? What if they find out he's Eclipse? Slip-on hikers? Clyde's store? What if...what if someone in gym..._

The feelings were so overwhelming that Stan-Kyle had to pull back. They had to become Kyle again. Only Kyle.

Before Stan noticed.

_Shame._

Again.

Kyle's own shame this time.

 _I've violated him!_ Kyle fretted, coming back to himself with an overwhelming rush of guilt. _If I was meant to know that, he'd have told me!_

 _He can't tell you,_ The Other spoke in Kyle's mind, _Stan wants to tell you, tell us. We know that._

_We know._

_Then that's enough._

He was Kyle again.

He?

Kyle was only vaguely aware of the 'thunk' as he put his head down on the table, a bit too hard. His Medic Alert bracelet clanged on the table, and he was somewhat aware of hands on him. He was just coherent enough to mentally grab that big switch in his mind that he called “Eclipse” and shut if off. Something stung his hand. Was Tweek shouting? Scott?

Scott!

Was his shirt being pulled up?

“Dammit, Kyle! Where's your pump?” Scott berated him, sounding worried, as something beeped. “Tweek!”

“Got it!” Tweek then had Kyle by the hair, pulling his head up and sticking a straw in his mouth.

“Suck, **hard**!” Scott told him.

 _The same event, different time, different players?_ Kenny wondered, noticing something moving at the corner of his eye. He jerked his head, just in time to see a pixelating version of Eclipse at the far corner, vanishing into thin air, his fist out, and a thumb up.

 _Suck on that!_ An older Scott's voice was telling him, Kenny remembered. Not quite this Scott, but close. A few years off?

“Fucking 48, REALLY, Kyle?” Scott was going on, “How can your forget to EAT?!”

Someone had his hand again.

Something sweet – Coke? - was in his mouth.

Kyle gulped it.

Someone had his hand, though.

Warmth.

Sadness, worry … love.

Fear.

Kyle looked up at a pale face framed in black hair.

_I love you, Kyle!_

“I...I know,” Kyle just managed, putting his head back down.

“He-his hand's all clammy?” Stan fretted, “He's so white? Kyle, _what_ do you know?”

“Stan, you've seen this before,” Wendy reminded him, “C'mon, sit down, Scott knows what to do. Stan?” Wendy patted his cheek a couple of times. “Are YOU all right?” She pulled his hand from Kyle's. “Give him some air, OK?”

“He'll be OK, Stan,” Keith offered.

“Why isn't he w-wearing his new p-pump?” Stan stammered.

“We forgot it, with all the trying on clothes for school, it was kinda in the way,” Keith explained. “I should have remembered.”

“It's easy to do, your shirt tail can snag the line before you know it,” Scott put in, getting Kyle settled.

Stan's eyes were fixed on Kyle, though, as Scott nudged him.

“Stan, did you hear?” Wendy asked. She snapped her fingers. “Stan?”

But Stan's eyes were blank.

His mind, however, was not.

 _Do you get it now?_ The Other asked Stan.

 _I get it,_ Stan mentally sighed in relief, even though he was struggling to process what he'd just learned in that touch.

 _Kyle didn't mean to do it. He didn't want you to know._  
_Know what?_  
 _Of course he wants you to know. All of it._  
 _Well, we know now._  
 _Worry, fear, and so much shame._  
 _I wonder why he feels that?_  
 _Probably the same reason you feel it._  
 _You think he knows how I feel?_  
 _Pretty sure he does, Toolshed._  
 _He's so afraid he won't be accepted._  
 _He?_  
 _Kyle's OK with 'he', he said so, remember?_  
 _But wasn't that the whole problem, Stan? Kyle isn't a 'he' now?_  
 _But we understand now!_  
 _We?_  
 _Us._  
 _That's comforting._  
_He feels just like I do! Scared, hurt, unsure of himself._  
 _He's going to need support, Stan. Using his Eclipse powers to remodel his physical body was easy, compared to what's ahead for him._  
 _Kenny said he was a train wreck before – in the future?_  
 _You up to preventing a train wreck, Stan?_ The Other asked, and then he was gone.

 _Am I up to...? Shit, I don't even know what's going on!_ Stan thought, the welter of confusing memories, thoughts, and emotions threatening to overwhelm him.  
_All this shit goes on in Kyle's head – all the time?! How can he even put his shoes on?_  
_I wonder if Clyde's got any more of those low-cut, slip-on, suede hikers?_  
 _Concentrate, Stan! You're not cutting a 2x4 here!_

 _Damn, is it like this, inside the head of every trans-kid out there?_  
_Well, could be, but how many male-to-neither trans-kids can there be?_  
 _There's only one that matters, right now._

But through all the confusion, Stan was able to focus on one thing: one emotion.

And he wasn't sure what it was.

“Stan, did you hear?” Wendy asked. She snapped her fingers. “Stan?”

Someone nudged him in the ribs.

_Scott's checking Kyle's blood sugar, and reading him the riot act. Keith's explaining why Kyle isn't wearing the pump._

_But what the fuck is this thing?_

Stan wasn't seeing Wendy, Keith, or Scott, though.

He was seeing something else.

Had Kenny seen it with him, Kenny could have told him what it was.

 _ **Agape,**_ Kyle's voice spoke in Stan's mind.

Kyle's hand was warm.

Scott was wiping Kyle's finger with an alcohol pad.

48.

48?

*

“C'mon, suck on it,” he heard someone say. He opened his eyes to see the sincere face of Scott Malkinson next to a terrified Butters. Scott was holding his blood sugar meter in one hand, and poking at Kenny's mouth with the other. Kenny sucked, and tasted something sweet and tart. Fruit. Sugar. “Shit, Butters, he's down to 48 mg/dl! No wonder he's passed out! When was the last time he ate?”

*

 _This hasn't happened yet?_ Stan thought, _But that's Kenny, not Kyle? Oh my God, Kenny looks like hell! And how OLD is he?_

 _ **Kenny understands what you're seeing,**_ Kyle's voice echoed in Stan's mind again, **_And why you're seeing it_**.

 _Damn, is there anything that Kyle_ doesn't _know?_

But given his relationship with his sister, Shelly, not to mention his somewhat daft parents, it was no surprise that Stan didn't recognize what his mind's eye was seeing before him.

He had no words for it.

_**You're looking at love, Stan. The kind'a love I have for you. The Greeks call it the highest form of love – agape – and it's totally selfless and unconditional. It isn't just saying “I love you,” or tearing up in a moment. It's got nothing to do with sex, and that's why so many people don't get it. They confuse physical sex acts with love. It's the spirit, Stan, where we are now. It's bigger than me, you, us, The Other, and it has no end. The Buddhists call it “mettā” or a “universal, loving kindness.” It's love, Stan, love that's free from desire and expectation, and doesn't keep score of mistakes or flaws. It's like in the Bible, Stan. It's like Jesus talked about, even though not very many people get it. Even when the sun is a red giant, and has almost destroyed Earth, it'll still be there, Stan. And beyond.** _

_Is this Kyle? Is this me? Or is it both of us, like a Stan-Kyle person?_

_**Think of it as echo, Stan. A small part of himself that Kyle left behind for you to find.** _

_Me? He left you...this...for me?_

_**He...I...wants so badly for you to know, Stan. He wants to heal that part that sees so much stuff as shit.** _

It was intimacy almost beyond what Stan could bear to know, yet he embraced it. And even though he was himself again, as Stan-Kyle had since separated, Stan embraced that little part left behind that spoke to him.

SNAP...SNAP

“Stan?!” Wendy raised her voice and gave Stan a shake. She'd snapped her fingers twice in succession.

_That was it? All that in the time it takes to snap your fingers twice?_

Stan blinked. Scott was wiping Kyle's finger. Kyle was sipping a Coke, as Tweek held the cup, and Craig propped Kyle up. And although it threatened to overwhelm him again, burst into tears, and made him want to grab Kyle and push everyone else away, he did not.

Stan grabbed onto that feeling instead, embracing it, pulling it in. _No, this is mine! This isn't to be shared with them!_

“GARH! Kyle, this too much PRESsure!” Tweek was telling him.

“You OK, Stan? Or does Scott need to stick you, too?” Kenny asked.

Stan looked up, and for just a moment, their eyes met.

Fire replaced that usual hard blue.

Stan sucked in a sharp breath.

“Let's go get a breath of air,” Kenny suggested, getting up and offering Stan a hand.

“It's hot … uh-outside?” Stan fumbled, almost as if he'd forgotten how to talk.

“Get up and stretch, Stan,” Wendy suggested, “You're about to have a panic attack!”

“Got that right!” Tweek agreed, giving Stan a hand up as Kyle stabilized. “I should know!”

“Walk with me,” Kenny said, his voice very low and inviting no argument.

They went outside.

“What the _hell_ just happened?!” Stan demanded, “And don't tell me you don't know, Kenny! I just saw the same thing flash in your eyes, that I saw – or something – that like, filled up my whole head, when I touched Kyle, just now!”

“Something similar happened like this, between Kyle and Craig, in some other place, some other time,” Kenny told him, “You caught on pretty quick, Stan.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It took me two lifetimes, if you can call being a teenager a lifetime, to get it,” Kenny replied, holding out his hand, where a tiny spark of that same light seemed to flicker just beneath the skin. “I think I started to realize it, when I blew my own head off in the high school auto shop, sitting in the ruins of Craig's car. It didn't really soak in, though, until the Tuckers took me in one winter night, and fed me, gave me a hot shower, and a bed, when I had nowhere else to go.”

“You're being a drama queen now,” Stan scoffed.

“No,” Kenny shrugged, “A princess sometimes, maybe, but never a queen,” he smirked. “Maybe it's time I let her out for a bit, ya think?”

“Kyle's … soul … or something just like … Vulcan mind-melded with me, and you're talking about doing a drag show?!” Stan gasped.

“You saw the colors, Stan. Colors you don't even know how to describe?” Kenny asked, and Stan nodded dumbly. “Then you're in it for the long haul, pal,” Kenny added, sighing and leaning back against the wall.

“W-what is he?” Stan asked in a very small voice. “Kyle, I mean?”

“I'm not sure,” Kenny answered, “He's...more. When this all started, at least for me, it was about Tweek and Craig. Mainly Tweek. But now it's about Kyle, I think. It's still all on me, though. I started all this, somehow.”

“You? I thought that Keith said it all started when some kind of rare element meteor hit out on 285?” Stan asked in return.

“It's all connected. Probably,” Kenny mused. “But damned if I know how.”

“Hey, Dudes!” Kevin Stoley greeted them, as he, Bradley, Douglas, and some of those other guys arrived.

“Go on in,” Kenny held the door, “Thanks for comin'!” He let the door close behind Douglas.

“Kyle probably knows,” Stan mused.

“One of them, at least. Probably an older one,” Kenny agreed, as he grabbed the door handle. “Speak of the devil?”

“We need to get him moving a little, and warmer, it's cold enough to hang meat in there,” Scott commented.

“Watch the petunias, now,” Craig advised, as he and Scott helped Kyle outside and seated him on the edge of the planter. Keith came behind them.

“I'm running home to get the pump,” Keith told them, “Be right back!”

“Guys, I'm fine now!” Kyle protested, watching his adoptive brother go.

“Are you really?” Stan asked, as Craig and Scott went back in.

Kyle looked sharply at him.

Neither one of them noticed Kenny going back inside, where he went to sit at the bar with Butters.

“I got it, Kyle,” Stan nodded slowly, his voice breaking just a little.

“W-whadda'ya mean, you _got_ it?” Kyle asked nervously.

“I know you didn't mean to, but you did that Eclipse-thing, when I grabbed your arm, Kyle,” Stan informed him.

“Oh!” Kyle blushed.

Stan sniffed and wiped his face on his sleeve. He sat down next to Kyle, nearly squashing a petunia.

He reached over to take Kyle's hand.

“Watch the flowers, Tweek will flip out!” Kyle warned him. They sat for a moment, enjoying the cooling mountain breeze as evening fell.

“My head's still spinning from it,” Stan finally offered.

“I'm sorry,” Kyle apologized.

“Don't be. I get it now, Kyle. I get why you don't need...anything, really. Much less sex, or even gender. It makes sense now. I mean, me and you were like – one being?” Stan fumbled, “Literally, like Spock does on TV? Shit, how can anyone even _think_ that sticking their dick in someone, much less just kissing them or whatever, could even come _close_ to that kind'a intimacy?” Stan collected his thoughts for a moment, which wasn't easy. “It makes sense, Kyle. Thank you.”

“It does?” Kyle laughed. “'cause if you can explain it, Stan, I'd really like to hear it!” He paused. “Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“I need my friends,” Kyle corrected him.

“You know what I mean,” Stan shrugged, still holding Kyle's hand. “I get why Tweek and Craig always seem to be doing this, too. It's nice.”

Kyle didn't reply. He just leaned over on Stan's shoulder.

“Kyle, if you've got all this power, why don't you fix your diabetes?” Stan had to ask.

“I haven't got to that chapter yet,” Kyle shrugged, grinning.

“You... _what_?!” Stan exclaimed, pulling back and just staring at Kyle in disbelief.

Then he pulled him into a tight hug.

And while neither one of them said it, somehow, each knew that the other was remembering when they'd turned their backs on one another: when Stan had turned 10.

 _ **It's a love without end,**_ that part of Kyle which he'd retained reminded Stan, surprising him in that it was still there.

Kyle looked into his eyes.

For just a moment, that firestorm of unknowable colors flashed there.

And what the boys felt was more than enough.

*

The evening was much cooler when Keith got back with Kyle's insulin pump. As he came around the corner of the building, he saw Stan and Kyle break their embrace. Stan kissed Kyle's forehead, then let go of his hand.

Stan was smiling.

“It's about fucking _time_!” Keith snorted, “That should do it now, I hope!”

He then picked up his pace.

“HEY, Kyle!” Keith called, waving to them.

“Thanks!” Kyle exclaimed, putting his arm around his brother's shoulders. They went in as Stan held the door.

Again, Stan Marsh smiled, because he finally understood.

 


	33. The Eighth Grade Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith realizes that he's made a mistake in his calculations, and overlooked something. During a visit to Craig's to use the meteorite to recharge Keith's future-tablet device, Kyle begins to realize just what that error was as he takes a chance and loops back yet again.
> 
> I've proofed this a couple times, but if you see any errors, let me know. I'll edit them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while. I'm sorry, but life gets in the way sometimes. Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Further notes: Notes: The Winchester Cathedral Choir is an internationally recognized professional choir based at the Winchester Cathedral at Winchester in Hampshire. The choir currently consists of 18 boy choristers and 12 lay clerks and sings eight services weekly in the Cathedral. It's not a factor in the story, but it is real.
> 
> House full of Cartmans: 'Merry Christmas, Charlie Manson' episode.
> 
> Craig's house: the number changed, as did the view of the front room. (Tweek vs. Craig). Jason White now lives in Craig's old house. (S21e10)
> 
> I gave Mr. Slave a first name just to add to the element, here. It's not canon.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**33**

**The Eighth Grade Error**

*****

Due to a teachers' strike and some plumbing problems at South Park Jr/Sr High that fall, classes did not begin until after Labor Day. As groups of students gathered at bus stops all over town to bemoan back-to-school time, there was one bus stop in particular that looked a little strange. Strange, even, for South Park.

Somewhere in the distance, someone played a hard riff on an electric guitar, causing the students to look all around.

“We should have worn hats,” Stan Marsh lamented, looking down the row of his friends.

“No one wears hats anymore,” Kyle Broflovski reminded him, looking somewhat ridiculous with his straightened red hair, coiffed as it was in the trendy style that Token's stylist, Maurice, had suggested.

“I think Token set us up!” Kenny declared.

The problem was, was that all of the students had the exact same haircut! All but one, that was.

“Is it hot, or is it just me?” Keith Cook asked, formerly being known as Korx, the Time Refugee from the year 3000, give or take a century or two. “I remember it being winter here, almost all year long?”

“We used to have two seasons: winter, and July,” Kyle offered.

“It wasn't _that_ bad, but yeah,” Kenny McCormick nodded, “We should have had at least a light snow by now.”

“Don't forget, you have a fishing trip to revisit later today,” Keith reminded Kyle. “Remember? The 'you' that survived first day of school?” Kyle nodded back at them.

“You guys ever get the feeling that we were in the third, fourth, and fifth grades for like, twenty years?” Stan wondered.

“All the time,” Kyle agreed. “I think we went through a dozen presidents?”

“I told you guys, this town is a temporal disaster area,” Keith reminded them.

“Sorry,” Kenny mumbled, “That's probably my fault.”

“Probably right,” Keith agreed, and they all looked at the one bald child. “What?”

“You didn't have to agree so fast!” Kenny complained. He then sighed. “I have no clue what to expect, this time around!” He looked at the green grass and held out his arms. “It's like that time that Mr. Marsh messed up the farting thing, and it got hot here from methane!” Kenny reminded them. “I mean, geeez! Shorts, T-shirts, no hats, and whatever the hell it is that Kyle's wearing?”

“HEY!” Kyle snapped.

“We can go dig for clams later,” Stan glanced at Kyle's legs, and Kyle jabbed him in the ribs.

“You know, he almost looks like a new Fighters of Zaron character?” Butters offered.

“HEY!” Kyle snapped again. “I don't know what to expect either,” Kyle then added, as they all looked at him. “What? It's not like me and all the other Kyles are The Borg Collective, or something! I dunno what's gonna happen either!”

Kenny adjusted his orange T-shirt. Given the unusually hot weather, those and shorts were called for, instead of winter coats. “I almost feel naked,” Kenny commented.

“You had that orange coat for like, forever,” Stan agreed. He sighed. “But at least we're not getting shot at anymore!”

“The orange parkas came from a crate my dad found along the road,” Kenny explained, “Fell off a truck, or something.”

“I always wondered,” Stan put in.

Kyle caught his tone of voice. “You OK, Stan?”

Stan nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, at least I'm not just something that gets changed – you know – altered, every time one of you changes time!” He did sort of a soft double-take at Kyle.

“WHAT?!” Kyle exclaimed.

“You're looking...earthy?” Kenny put in, reaching over to pick at the sleeve of Kyle's dull green shirt.

“It's breathable hemp fabric, and I like the earth tones!” Kyle protested.

“You just _had_ to say it, didn't you?” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I still think you _rocked_ that blue hemp hat,” Kenny added, smirking. “Didn't your dad sell a ton of them online? I remember Craig got one?”

“Oh, fuuuuuck you!” Stan replied, but he smiled.

“Promise?” Kenny leered at him.

“Dude!” Kyle gasped.

“Nah, Butters would probably kick my ass,” Stan replied, nonplussed. “I can't believe you guys are still playing dress-up, and going out at night on patrol, either!”

“I'll have you all know that Professor Chaos is _not_ just playing dress-up,” Butters retorted haughtily.

“It's good for Leo to vent his frustrations,” Kenny shrugged, giving him a nudge, “Besides, it keeps us in shape, and it also has a lot of the high-schoolers scared shitless, knowing that Mysterion and Chaos are someone in junior high.” Kenny nudged Kyle. “Not to mention the rumors still going around about Eclipse.”

“Should cut the bullying down a lot,” Stan had to agree, as the bus rolled up.

“You _know_ you still wanna do it, Stan,” Kenny provoked him, as they all boarded, “Get dressed up, go kick some ass, vent those frustrations? Shoot some people in the ass with a nail gun?”

Stan just snorted.

“Can we not talk about 'nailing asses'?” Kyle asked.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” Miss Crabtree screeched.

“I said I'm gonna nail all my classes!” Kyle clarified.

“Oh, well I hope you do, too!” She replied sweetly.

_Of all the people to save from getting killed in this town..._

As usual, Butters had been the first one on. “Hey, fellas!” he'd greeted them, as Miss Crabtree had just stared at them all for a moment. Butters had the same haircut, too. Miss Crabtree had giggled, which was unusual. At the next two stops, she had been almost unable to contain her laughter.

With the exception of Token Black, whose hair was styled in braided rows, the boys _all_ had the same haircut.

Even Tweek.

“NO EATING ON THE BUS!” Miss Crabtree yelled at him, which made Tweek jump and yell, too. Until he gave her a bag containing a cinnamon roll, which could only be described as 'divine'. “Well, I suppose we could make an exception, first day and all?” She then smiled.

“Suck up,” Clyde mumbled, nudging Tweek along.

“This is all _your_ fault!” Craig Tucker then accused Stan's Gang.

“What's that?” Kyle asked.

“THIS!” Craig pointed at his own stylish, glossy black hair.

“How is this _our_ fault?” Stan protested. “It's _Token's_ fault!”

“I didn't _make_ you all go see Maurice,” Token put in.

“ _Whatever_ it is, usually _is_ your fault!” Clyde reminded them.

“Peru?” Craig reminded them.

“Y-you really n-need to let that g-g-go!” Jimmy smiled.

“He saves the world from the guinea-creature invasion, and all he does is bitch!” Kenny laughed.

“I hate back to school,” Craig added, “Stripe will be home alone all day.”

Tweek rolled his eyes, passing the pastry bag around.

 _Well, this isn't how it went before,_ Kenny recalled, remembering all those mornings that he and Karen had relied on Tweek for breakfast. Then again, with his father in prison, Kevin working for Mr. Marsh, and his mother Carol working at Olive Garden as a shift manager, things were decidedly different. Never mind what Mr. Marsh's home renovation show had done for them. Kenny tried to remember when the Marshes had given up on the marijuana farm, and decided that the TV show was a better career. _I don't think that Stan living on a pot farm was supposed to ever happen,_ Kenny thought. _Then again, neither was him getting shot at school!_

“Isn't this exciting? Eighth grade?” Butters asked exuberantly.

Everyone just gaped at him.

“Well, seeing as how you live with the Principal?” Token offered.

Kenny raised an eyebrow. Yet again, he was aware of another major change: he distinctly remembered PC Principal and Strong Woman having had quintuplets: The PC Babies. However, that seemed to have changed. The couple was still fostering Butters and Aaron Hagen, were married, and hadn't had any children of their own. Furthermore, the principal had decided to move jobs to the Jr/Sr High, turning the elementary over to his wife. It was a very PC move, though, in that it put the two in separate work places. Never mind the fact that the man had stated that he intended to follow 'the gang' all the way to college. In fact, according to Butters, the Principal was already planning on their college futures.

“I really hope it's a quiet year,” Stan offered.

“Fat chance,” Clyde scoffed. “Since when is it ever quiet in South Park?”

“It's all _your_ fault,” Craig persisted.

Keith snickered.

“Without Cartman, it should be quiet,” Kyle added, grinning just a little.

“You're enjoying that, aren't you?” Token asked.

“And _you're_ not?” Craig asked in reply.

Token shrugged, but he did smile.

“I know I am!” Butters put in, looking around, as the last group of students boarded. “Anyone hear from Pip this summer?”

“I got an email from him,” Douglas spoke up, “Him and Trent are staying in England for the school year. It's different over there, but yeah, Pip said he was going out for Rugby, whatever that is!”

“ _Pip_?!” Kyle gasped, remembering what a disaster football had been for the British boy, but also how Pip had been a terror at dodgeball.

“Yeah, I guess Trent called him 'French' at tryouts, and Pip just went nuts!” Douglas explained. “Sent eight of them to the infirmary!”

“Pretty cool, what one good kick to the balls can do, huh?” Keith asked Kyle.

“What _is_ Rugby?” Tweek asked.

“It's like football, Babe, but like ten times as rough. It's like, find the guy with the ball, and try and murder him before he makes a touchdown!” Craig explained.

“I can't wait for the first football game!” Clyde exclaimed, “I made quart-”

“I MADE QUARTERBACK!” Everyone said in unison, in a mocking tone, laughing.

“We know, Clyde, we knowwwww,” Token sighed, “You've been reminding us of that, for, oh? I dunno? Every ten minutes all summer?”

“Oh, fuck you!” Clyde replied, but he was grinning.

Keith looked in their bright yellow backpack, rummaging about for something.

“Hey, thanks again, Dude,” Clyde leaned over the seat to tell them. “For the...you know?” Clyde blushed and sniffled.

“No problem, Clyde,” Keith smiled back at him, “Like I said, the future needs you.”

“Don't blow up his ego anymore than it is,” Craig sighed, “It's not like he's quarterback for the Broncos!”

“ _Yet_ ,” Keith added, which made Clyde seem to freeze up in shock.

“What'cha lookin' for in there?” Butters asked.

Kyle glanced over at his foster sibling, remembering how Keith had used up his supply of that future drug to stabilize Clyde's physiology and prevent a cancer relapse. Kyle shuddered. After all, he'd seen that one possible future twice already, altered as it was. He'd seen Clyde, as a teenager, change from looking like 'death warmed over' to a vibrant, healthy state. He had to wonder how long Keith would remain healthy, without that crucial medication. _Without it, their DNA falls apart; they don't tell Drones that,_ Kyle recalled.

 _I'll remind you when Keith needs that injection,_ Another-Kyle spoke up in Kyle's mind.  
 _I don't suppose you're all gonna give me any hints about this school year?_ Kyle-Prime asked.  
 _Nope,_ that other Kyle told him.  
 _And I guess you're not going to tell me who gave you that supply of Ribozene for Keith, and how they got it?  
Nope. You're on your own, Kyle! Suffice it to say, you've got an ally._

And then the other Kyle was gone.

“The hell's wrong with you?” Kenny asked Kyle, as the bus rolled up to the school. Everyone had braced themselves, as Miss Crabtree 'coming in for a landing' was usually an exciting ordeal. This time, though, she simply rolled up and parked smoothly.

“Must have been the cinnamon roll,” Tweek shrugged.

“Just thinking, is all,” Kyle told Kenny.

“Yeah, well, maybe you'd best avoid that, OK? Things tend to go haywire, when you do that!” Kenny laughed, looking around at the school grounds. It was both familiar, and alien to him, at the same time.

“Junior High was when it all started to fall apart,” Stan reminded them, putting a hand on Kyle's shoulder. His eyebrow then went up. “Isn't this the year that Pete, the Goth Kid, gets packed off to juvie?”

“Yeah,” Kenny nodded. “I never found out what happened, but Henrietta and them dumped him, or _will_ dump him, this year, for some reason.” Kenny reconsidered that thought. He found that he didn't recall exactly, but they'd made it through seventh grade. Logically, this was the year, then.

Kyle nodded. “Firkle, Georgie, I mean, spends more of his time with Ike now, so I guess that'd make Pete the odd man out?”

“So long as he doesn't jump off the water tower, remember?” Keith reminded them.

“I can't wait for science class!” Kevin Stoley was saying, as he, Bradley Biggle, Douglas, Francis, and some of those other guys went by. “You got allergy meds, right, Bradley? I think that when we charge the nickle-iridium ring with-”

“I don't think it's a good idea to try to demonstrate...” Bradley's voice trailed off.

“That kid scares me!” Craig Tucker admitted. “Kevin hasn't come outta his lab all summer!”

“Well, _you_ haven't come outta your _garage_ all summer!” Tweek reminded him, glancing across the way at the students' parking lot. “And Red Racer's just a naked frame with tires on it, now!”

“Since when are you so interested in what people drive?” Token asked.

“Since _him_ ,” Tweek elbowed Craig's ribs. “Cars-this, and cars-that!”

“Says the boy with the almost-new black Lincoln sitting in his garage!” Craig smiled at him.

“I like that white truck,” Clyde observed.

“James Frederickson,” Kenny told him, “Senior. He hates that truck. Maybe he'll sell it to you, when he graduates? It's a stick-shift.” _And Mr. Donovan will buy it, Clyde will sneak it out and try to teach himself to drive a stick, burn the clutch out, and nearly have a nervous breakdown over it! Maybe I won't be hiding in it so much, this time around?_

“Cool!” Craig smiled, taking Tweek's hand.

“No,” Tweek told him.

“No-what?” Craig asked innocently.

“No, we're not sneaking the Lincoln out again!” Tweek replied, twitching.

“You've been out driving?” Kenny wondered, realizing that he really didn't remember when Tweek had inherited his Grandpa's car. What he didn't remember, from either Timeline, though, was Tweek and Craig sneaking the Lincoln out for joyrides. The Tweek that Kenny remembered was terrified of that car.

“Funny, how we all got the same schedules?” Keith pointed out, studying his tablet, and changing the subject.

“Is...is that a y-year 3000 t-tablet?” Jimmy asked.

Keith nodded, studying the elongated, horizontal graph that was filled with multicolored lines.

“Should you even turn that thing on?” Kyle asked, “What with the … _factions_ you told us about?”

“The factions are all pretty much neutralized,” Keith reminded him.

“So long as our version of Cartman is sitting in juvie?” Kyle whispered to Keith.

Keith nodded. “My people don't have a temporal power core for the Accelerator anymore, Future-Eclipse took care of Future-Cartman that one night, and...and...,” Keith poked the tablet a few times, “Kevin is right where he should...”

Keith paused.

“Never mind!” they then added hastily.

“What's this about Kevin? _Stoley_?” Kyle asked.

“I'm just glad all the metaphysical bullshit stopped,” Kenny cut in. “Those dreams of the cemetery and highway were getting old!”

“Like I said, it's a sure sign to leave well enough alone,” Keith agreed, as the bell rang.

As they all filed into the building, though, Kenny couldn't help but glance over his shoulder. For just a moment, he saw an older boy in a yellow poofball hat coming up the walk, tripping over that crack in the concrete, and making his stumbling way to his locker.

On the parking lot adjacent to the Auto Mechanics class garage, a black Lincoln pulled up alongside a red Corvette. A high-schooler in an orange coat jumped out of its way.

Kenny closed his eyes and shook his head. The vision went away.

When he looked again, only the white Ford Ranger remained, among cars that Kenny didn't recognize.

“Well, _that's_ still on track, I guess,” Kenny told himself, as he made his way to his locker. Still, he couldn't help but think about the things which were to come. He could hear Craig's voice telling someone (probably Clyde) about how the rebuild of Red Racer was ready to start, now that the 'Vette was stripped down. He heard Jimmy telling someone a joke. He could hear the hum of Timmy's wheelchair. Clyde was still bubbling over about football.

Still, he somehow half-expected to hear the roll called, and find that one name missing near the end of the alphabet.

 _So much has changed, so how can I still feel like it's going to happen, all over again?_ Kenny thought.

 _It's going to be a long three years or so, if you keep stewing about this,_ The Other spoke up in Kenny's mind.

“Oh, be quiet!” Kenny grumbled, as they headed off to first period.

*

Surprisingly, the day went by smoothly. The only bits of excitement were at lunch and gym class.

As for the former, Scott Malkinson had – not surprisingly – sought out the gang to make sure that Kyle's insulin pump was working properly, and to see how many carbohydrates Kyle was planning to eat. Scott and Lisa joined them for lunch, and Kenny wasn't surprised in the least to hear Scott mention that he was going to start restoring a rather badly abused 1986 Mustang GT with his uncle.

As for the latter, those who knew the full extent of Kyle's new nonbinary identity had been concerned about what would happen during showers after PE. While they all were used to Keith, and no one even gave them a second thought, Stan and Kenny weren't so sure about Kyle. No one seemed to notice him, though.

“That's because they all see what they _expect_ to see,” Kyle explained, as they were drying off and getting dressed.

“So that's why you still look like, uhm, Keith looks – to us?” Stan fumbled, still clearly unnerved by Kyle's remodel of his body.

“Exactly,” Kyle nodded, pulling on his long shorts, “It's not hard to project an illusion, you know. Everyone else sees me as a normal male.”

“Sneaky,” Stan complimented him, “But don't you miss...? You know?” Stan gestured.

“Nope,” Kyle replied flatly, turning to Kenny. “You still working after school?”

“Not as much,” Kenny answered, “No need to now, you know.”

“Now that so much has changed?” Keith asked.

“I can't imagine,” Stan wondered.

Kenny nodded. “You know the worst thing about changing history, though? Getting Chef back, and he's still cooking at the elementary!”

They all had a laugh at that, as they headed out of the locker room.

*

And so the eighth grade settled into a routine. There were a few minor diversions, but as far as the boys knew, there were no more changes to the Timeline. Keith and Kyle (along with any number of Other-Kyles) confirmed this. As Keith had repeatedly told them, it was best to leave well-enough alone. No one was having strange dreams, and no one wanted to.

What the boys did get called out for was sneaking off to the elementary, which they could just make at a dead run, to have lunch with Chef.

“Well, those buttered noodles _are_ to die for!” Was all that Principal Strong Woman had to say about that, upon finding eighth-graders in her lunch line.

As the weather continued to be unseasonably warm, they sometimes rode their bikes to school. If there was a football game, they would go to support Clyde and their other friends who had made the team. Other free evenings were spent at Tweek's shoppe, just hanging out, or working on bikes with Craig. Craig somehow always managed to find the time for such, which made Keith wonder if some of those dormant chronoton particles that he and Tweek were absorbing from the Cobalt-54 meteorite weren't slipping him slightly backward in time. Still, Keith swore that they weren't.

“Well, they're going _some_ where,” Keith observed one day near midterm, “Because every time I check,” he held up his future tablet, “The count seems to get lower!”

“You didn't count on that, did you?” Kenny asked him.

“Not really, no,” Keith admitted.

“So you knew that thing would contaminate Craig?” Kyle asked.

Keith nodded. “It'll help, when the _time_ comes. If we're going to set off a Melting Clock Paradox, we're going to need all the chronotons we can get. It's not as easy as you think it is, bringing local time to a standstill.”

“Well, what about that thing that Kevin Stoley is always working on?” Butters wondered.

Keith shook his head. “Bradley Biggle would be sick by now, what with his alien physiology, you know, and he's still hanging out with Kevin. Kevin might have some of the count, but he can't have all of it. Besides, it took him – will take him – thirty years to get the prototype discriminator to work. No, there's something else either neutralizing, or sucking up the particles.” He gave the tablet a shake. It squeaked and made other odd sounds, as if it were aggravated. “I really need to take this over to Craig's, and recharge it off the meteorite.”

“So just ask him?” Butters shrugged, leaning over to peek at the screen. “Well, I dunno what all those lines mean, but it reminds me of that one _**Star Trek Voyager**_ two-parter, _**The Year of Hell?**_ When that one alien guy was wiping out all those civilizations to change time?”

“Very observant, Butters!” Keith smiled. “It's a similar charting system. Each one of these lines represents a major player throughout future-history. The more you zoom in, the more lines you see. Well, curves, actually. The whole idea is to keep the oscillating curves as close to the x-axis as you can here.”

“Hang on,” Kyle cut in, “I thought you told me that you can't access that hybrid supercomputer in your own time now?”

“I can't,” Keith admitted, “This data is from when I pulled the core, and came back.”

“So it's not very accurate then?” Kenny added darkly. “After all we've done here?”

Keith paused.

“I mean, your coming here would have set off some new changes, wouldn't it?” Kenny asked, “And all the people you've interacted with?”

“Not really foolproof, no, but it's all we've got. The tablet is programmed with the sensors and algorithms that Ziggy uses, but it didn't have enough range, or memory to bring a copy of her AI with me.” Keith explained.

“Her?” Butters asked.

“Well, yeah? AI's can have a mental gender!” Keith shrugged. “Why not? _She_ picked it.”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we just … not?” he asked.

“Agreed,” Kenny put in, “And since I don't work through the week anymore, I think we need to concentrate on the next upcoming disaster.”

“Uhm, what's that?” Butters asked, pushing his glasses up.

“Pete,” Kenny reminded them. “We're coming up on midterms, and Pete still hasn't gotten busted for drugs. He's not been disowned by Henrietta and them yet, and without Alcoholic-Stan and those other losers to hang out with,” Kenny paused to nudge Stan. “No offense!”

“No problem, Dude!” Stan grinned.

“Without them, it's hard to tell what Pete'll get into,” Kenny finished.

Keith's face went a bit pink.

“What?!” Kyle exclaimed.

“Pete's not...not...” Keith fumbled, “I mean, if he gets...”

“Are you trying to say that Pete doesn't matter, as far as _your_ future-history is concerned?” Kenny interrupted.

Keith nodded.

“Whether he ends up alive, or as street-pizza, it won't affect the future,” Keith admitted.

“You can't know that, for sure?” Kyle gasped.

“Dude!” Stan gasped as well, “I got to know Pete and them some, when I was in my Goth phase. He's not that bad'a kid, you know! You can't just...just write him off, like he's disposable?”

“Look, Stan, Kyle,” Keith's face went hard, “I don't mean to sound unfeeling, OK? But it's part of what I do! It's what Drones do. You can't get invested in some people!”

“' _Some_ people'?” Kenny exclaimed, “Oh, like how you're invested, or _not,_ in US?!” He nearly shouted.

“You're still afraid of us? Of me?” Kyle offered sadly.

Keith nodded.

“A little, yes.”

Kyle looked away. “So, if I hadn't trapped you here, you _wouldn't_ have stayed?”

“No,” Keith admitted, “I had somewhere else to go.”

Kyle looked genuinely hurt. Stan put his hand on Kyle's shoulder. “Fine, then,” Kyle said, his tone flat, “Craig's got the power core, right? You've got a spare discriminator with one jump left in it? Why don't you just go over to Craig's, charge up your tablet and discriminator, or wait – how about you just take the bloody blue rock and _leave_ , then?”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. He thought back to that night at Tweek's, when 'Korx' had arrived: _The boys looked up to see another boy walking in. He was dark-complected, with slightly almond-shaped eyes. He wore a blue cap with a yellow poofball on top, and a sky blue jacket with gray cargo pants and snow boots. On his wrist, he wore a large and complex-looking watch_.

“Red mittens, too,” Kenny recalled.

“What?” Stan wondered.

“When Keith showed up on New Year's Eve, he was wearing Craig Tucker's chullo hat, and Kevin Stoley's coat and mittens!” Kenny snapped his fingers. “The only kids I've ever seen around here with coats like that are Kevin and Esther!”

They all just stared at Keith, who didn't seem able to face them.

“It seemed to be the best place to go, when I went rogue,” Keith admitted. “I mean, Kevin invented the discriminator, after all!”

“Holy shit!” Butters exclaimed, nearly falling over, “You mean to tell me that Kevin Stoley invented time travel!?”

“You _just_ now caught that, Butters?” Stan groaned. “And what about _Pete_?” He repeated.

“Pete makes no difference,” Keith said glumly. “I'm sorry, but that's just how it is. The future won't miss him.”

“Like how Pip, or Trent, or Terrance Mephesto didn't make any difference?” Stan pressed him, “Or even Chef?”

“Not everyone is a key player, Stan,” Keith repeated, “I'm sorry, but that's just how it _is_!”

“Not to me,” Stan declared.

Kenny said nothing, but his face hardened. Stan's statement, as well as something that Keith had said earlier, had just connected in his mind. Keith had told them that his tablet's future data might not be too accurate anymore. Not everyone was relevant to future-history. Yet some were extremely important. _Like Clyde, or Tweek and Craig,_ Kenny thought. He understood that as a Drone, Keith would have had to have taken on a detached roll. If he were to repair something in the past, his masters – or whatever they were – couldn't afford to have him becoming emotionally invested. But then why had Keith gone to all the trouble to bring back all those that he had?

 _Maybe he was doing it for himself? Setting up a place to hide in?_ The Other suggested in Kenny's mind.

 _And maybe he didn't take into consideration, what bringing back all those others, or ME being thrown back in time, would do!_ Kenny realized.

“You needed some of them, but you didn't need _all_ of them,” Kenny muttered.

“What?” Kyle asked.

“Keith. All those people he brought back,” Kenny clarified. “You can't tell me that all of them were as irrelevant as Pete is? And I don't think you brought Chef back, just to be nice to us? I think you probably needed Terrance Mephesto too, didn't you? The Genetic Engineering Ranch? I suspect that's how Tweek and Craig were able to have offspring, without adopting?” Kenny dug in, “But I think you might have overlooked something rather important, Keith!”

“Oh? What's that?” Keith asked, somewhat smugly.

“I don't think you took into account, what keeping Trent Boyette _out_ of juvie, would do to your history,” Kenny theorized, “In fact, I don't think you gave _him_ a second thought. He was locked up, and out of the picture, right? And you've already said that me being thrown back in time threw a real wrench into your gears, huh?” Kenny grinned a sarcastic grin. “And then let's factor Kyle into the mix! I remember you saying that people like Kyle only come along once in a thousand years? And that your people assassinate them? We didn't have Eclipse, either time before. I'd imagine that _that_ really skewed your graphs, there, didn't it? But I think it answers one big question that I've had!”

“Which is?” Kyle wondered, as Stan and Butters both were beginning to look constipated. Mentally, at least.

“Kyle impersonated Mysterion, and busted Cartman a number of years too early, when he cut Craig's tires,” Kenny explained. “Cartman got put in juvie, years before he would have gone to jail in high school. From my perspective, Cartman didn't get busted until the fight in the high school cafeteria, when Kyle lied about him attacking Craig. A really fucked-up, post-crash-Craig. But now, Cartman's _in_ juvie – where he did NOT meet up with Trent Boyette again, thanks to Kyle!”

“Add to that,” Stan cut in, “Right now, there's no Cartman to be his Future Self, and invent time travel and be a CEO, much less to come back so that our Cartman could screw himself over by not believing him! That, and you wouldn't have a rogue Cartman from the future that wants to kill us. Actually, you've got a Cartman-1 and Cartman-2 from the future!”

“And I thought one Eric was bad enough!” Butters groaned.

Kyle groaned. “It's as bad as waking up in a house full of Cartmans, remember?”

“You're getting the hang of this, aren't you, Stan?” Kenny smiled.

“Oh, hamburgers!” Butters repeated, looking as if he were actually following along.

Keith's jaw dropped, but they quickly recovered their composure. Keith gave Kyle a look.

“Furthermore,” Kenny pressed on, “I think that if Kyle _hadn't_ gone back and injured Trent as he did, setting him on the musical career path he's on now, that Trent would have _killed_ Cartman in juvie, which would have eliminated one – if not two - of your temporal factions? Like that one future-Cartman, at least?”

“Which one of the future Eclipses did, anyway?” Kyle cut in, “That night we tried to explain all this to Craig? That night that the Future-Cartman came back to kill us, and _that_ Eclipse busted him and took him away?”

“See, _that's_ how we ended up with _two_ versions of Cartman, from the future,” Kenny explained, “Possibly three! I think it takes some time, no pun intended, for the changes to sort of catch up with those folks that it changes?”

“Yeah, I remember that one guy who said he was Cartman from the future, outside Motivation Corp., and then our Cartman didn't believe him, said he wasn't going to clean up his act, and the nice, fit businessman suddenly turned into a fat mechanic! He said he was the CEO of his own time travel business!” Stan reminded them, “But it _did_ take a minute for him to change!”

“I remember that! Our future-selves!” Butters put in.

“There's a temporal lag, yes,” Keith admitted, “And sometimes, it's enough of a lag that you can outrun it, if you're far enough back, or having crossed enough alternate timelines. So theoretically, there _could_ be others out there who haven't been wiped out _yet_.” Keith cocked one of his eyebrows, which were actually drawn on with Mrs. Broflovski's makeup pencil. “And with Trent over in the UK with Pip, I figure that probably factors in much like being in prison would. Whatever he does over there isn't going to affect matters here.”

“My head hurts,” Butters put in.

“Plug _that_ into your tablet, and see what happens!” Stan suggested.

Keith did that, and the symmetrical curves suddenly skewed all over the graph. In fact, one of them shot right up and off of the screen.

“That's just Kyle,” Keith sighed, “His line is more of one side of a hyperbola. No matter what you do, Kyle just shoots off towards infinity.” They paused. “This is bad,” Keith mumbled. “I think you're right, Kenny. I think I may have overlooked the Trent-Cartman factor!”

“Trent's a big music star now, Keith,” Kyle reminded him, but still, with no warmth in his voice. “And now that he's over in England with Pip, and giving concerts and such, it's hard to tell how many lives he's changing, just by going out on stage!”

Kenny smirked, admittedly feeling somewhat malicious in his small victory. Still, he didn't rub it in.

“So you're just as lost as we are, now,” Kenny pointed out.

“I...I...,” Keith fumbled, “I mean, you don't understand? Drones don't make mistakes like this! We just _don't_!”

“Keith,” Butters asked, “Tell me this, then? I get it that you needed Terrance to grow up and be a scientist, an' all, but what about Pip? How'd you do that?”

“I...sort of distracted...Barbara Streisand, when I went after Terrance, and she paused just long enough for Pip to get his ass out of the way, before she could stomp him,” Keith explained. “I mean, how many people get to meet Babs and get her autograph?”

“You listen to HER?!” Stan cringed.

“She's an historical musical icon!” Keith protested, which made them all groan.

“But if you had data that Pip died that day, why'd you let him live?” Kyle had to ask. “And my mother, for one,” he added glumly.

“Sounds like you got invested?” Stan added sarcastically.

“Pip was kind to me, the first time we were here,” Keith admitted. “I liked him.” Keith then managed to face Kyle.

“I know you came back on New Year's Eve for more than just a party with old friends,” Kyle then added, his expression hardening.

“I needed more data on Cartman, I mean, the one who _wasn't_ going to grow up to be a CEO,” Keith replied with a heavy sigh. “And yes, I was supposed to scope you out, too.”

“To get rid of me?” Kyle prompted him. “To keep me out of the mix?”

Keith nodded again. “I guess I _did_ sort of say that.”

“A couple'a times, and pretty loud, too,” Butters added helpfully.

“Sorry, Kyle,” Keith offered.

“Well, it's not like you're alone, in wanting to wipe Cartman out of existence,” Kyle shrugged. “I'm guessing that's what one of the future Eclipses did the other night?”

For a while, Keith said nothing. They didn't have to. The look on their face said it all.

“I guess it'd be easy to overlook one person, when you're running for your life, huh?” Kyle finally offered.

“I didn't overlook _you_ , Kyle,” Keith admitted, “But I knew I was going to fail that mission, when I met an older you. I guess I figured that the safest place for me to be, stolen power core or not, was with you.”

“You knew, Kyle?” Kenny deduced.

Kyle nodded. “Yeah, I kinda have access to that kinda info. But it still hurts.”

“This is pretty fucked up, right here!” Stan exclaimed.

“Oh, hamburgers!” Butters gasped again.

“Whatever!” Stan cut in, “Look, I'm not just letting Pete throw himself off the water tower, OK? I know what it's like, to have depression, and substance addiction, all right?” Stan's voice cracked as he spoke, “And I don't care if you think he doesn't matter, Keith! I think we need to find out where he started getting the stuff, and put a stop to it!”

“Sounds like a job for some superheroes, huh?” Kenny grinned.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose again.

*

The boys waited until Friday night for Kenny to get off work at City Wok. As Kenny had told them, even with the changes that had taken place in his life, he still needed a source of income. While Kenny was at work, the boys finished their homework, then headed over to Craig's house.

They found him in the garage with Tweek, where Red Racer was scattered about in what seemed to be a million pieces. As they looked around, the boys realized that they'd never been to Craig's house since he'd moved from #1010. As Keith was shyly explaining to Craig about needing to use the meteorite, Kyle looked around the garage.

 _It looks like an auto parts store exploded in here!  
He'll get it reassembled, don't worry,_ Another Kyle answered him.  
 _Yeah, Kenny told me that. When Craig's 14, puts the stereo in, and drives it to Tweek's house for the first time.  
And you know I can't tell you, Kyle,_ That Other added in Kyle's head, _But suffice it to say, you're not done here yet. Tweek's not out of the woods yet._

Kyle sighed.

“Dude!” Craig was saying, “Why didn't you just say so? It's like, having a dead phone? Shit, c'mon!”

Kyle looked up from the disassembled shifter assembly on the workbench he'd been studying. Craig was holding Keith's tablet, and displaying more emotion than Kyle could ever recall. Craig looked genuinely shocked. Then again, Kyle knew, having Tweek around seemed to bring out the best in Craig. Kyle couldn't help but smirk as he recalled their trip to Peru with the stoic boy.

 _You know, Craig really IS a metahuman,_ Yet-Another Kyle spoke up in Kyle's mind.  
 _What?! How_?!  
 _The eye-lasers, remember_?  
O _h, yeah! Forgot about that_.  
 _So you can let Keith know where some of those spare chronoton particles went. They're just sort of in transit now. How do you think the Incas knew about Craig to begin with? I mean, Kevin Stoley doesn't have all of the particles; just some of them._

Kyle couldn't help but to think that it made sense.

But as they entered Craig's house, the front room was suddenly replaced. Kyle found himself sitting in his mother's car. Images of a playground blended with the Tucker home, and it seemed as if Tweek and Craig, heading up the stairs to Craig's room, were heading up the ladder of the big slide. The carpet looked like smooth gravel, and Kyle was sitting instead of standing.

Kyle looked around. Kyle paused as he caught a glimpse of the playground. His eyes lingered on the bench just in front of the curved jungle gym for a moment. A boy in a green hoodie, maybe a third grader, was sitting there, staring at a boy in a blue insulated vest who didn't seem to notice him. The boy in green had blond hair, and the boy in blue had black hair sticking out from under his blue hat. A sense of déjà vu swept of Kyle, as he realized that he was not looking at Tweek and Craig, but at two other, younger boys that he didn't know. He was sixteen, he realized, and he'd just dropped Ike off at school.

“I've done this before,” Kyle muttered, not realizing that he'd said it aloud.

“You've never been here before?” Craig said, pausing on the stairs. “You guys never come over to hang out. Not that I ever minded, since every time you all go out, things...” Craig's voice trailed off, blending in with the voice of the unknown boy in blue. He was introducing himself to the shy blond boy on the playground. Older-Ike was heading into the school with Georgie “Firkle” Smith. Kyle's hand moved on the Jetta's shifter as he made to go.

And then the vision was gone.

Kyle blinked, shook his head, and found himself in Craig's front room again.

They all went upstairs. While Keith was charging his tablet and 'watch' off of the cobalt meteorite, Kyle looked around at the Spartan room. Other than the computer, TV and gaming system, and a desk, Craig didn't have a lot of things. What he did have was all neatly arranged on shelves in his closet. As Keith was watching his tablet sitting atop the glass case that house the rock, Craig sat down next to Tweek on the bed, then jumped as Stripe squeaked in alarm. Craig removed the guinea pig from under the blanket.

“Escape artist!” He accused Stripe.

For a moment, it was awkward. After all, despite Keith's gift of the meteorite to Tweek for Craig, and their parties at Tweek's shoppe, they boys didn't really have that much in common.

It was Butters who finally broke the proverbial ice. “You know, I wish I'd'a known you were so good at workin' on bikes, back when we had the first big bike parade! Remember that, Craig?”

 _Leave it to Butters,_ Kyle thought.

“I still can't believe we didn't win,” Craig sighed.

“Oh, let it go, Craig!” Tweek exclaimed, “That was like, two years ago!”

“Wasn't it fourth grade?” Stan wondered.

 _This place is a temporal disaster area,_ Kyle remembered Keith having said.

“Fellas,” Keith cut in, borrowing Butters' favorite exclamation, “Remember why I told you we chose this place for the first incursion? When all of us came back in time? This town is a … how do I wanna say it, when it comes to time and reality?”

“Call Kevin?” Stan snickered.

But Craig raised an eyebrow. Having yanked his hat off, his hair was standing up in all directions, which made him look silly, and of course, no one had told him about! “This town's a messy bitch, where time is concerned?” Craig asked. Tweek blushed.

“You got that from Mr. Al!” Tweek reminded him, “I hate it when you say stuff like that!”

“Exactly!” Keith smiled, as his tablet chirped, indicating that it was charged.

“So, are we all getting irradiated by that thing?” Tweek asked.

“Chronotons are harmless,” Keith assured him, “Like I said, South Park's such a temporal mess that it'll never notice a few more!” He grinned.

“You been haning' out with Big Gay Al?” Butters wondered.

“He comes in the shoppe all the time,” Tweek explained, giving Craig 'the look', “Him and Mr. Slave. Harold, that is.”

“Always wondered what his real name was?” Stan made a puzzled face.

“Oh, don't gimme that look, Babe,” Craig sighed at Tweek, “You were the one who was always freaked out by being the only out-gay couple at school, and wondering if we were doing it right! Al and Harold have great advice!”

“Uhm, doin' _what_ right?” Butters had to ask.

Craig shrugged. “Being gay?”

“How can you be gay and do it wrong?” Stan wondered.

“He means how it used to be for gay kids,” Tweek explained, blushing. “I guess Mr. Al and his generation really had it rough. I mean, people think that it was cool, like they do now. You didn't have Asian girls drawing Yaoi pictures of them back then!”

“Yeah, if anyone thought you were gay, you got made fun of and beat up,” Craig added. He handed Stripe off to Tweek and stretched a long arm over to grab his blue jacket. “See that?” He pointed at the rainbow flag patch on the sleeve. “You think kids back then could have got away with this?”

Kyle couldn't help but to think of Cartman, and what Kenny had said about stopping Cartman numerous times from bashing on Tweek and Craig. Never mind vandalizing Craig's car. Kyle stared at the jacket, remembering the gold hash mark patches and the Japanese emblem that he recalled from four years or so to come.

Tweek sighed. He looked up at Butters, who was perched on the foot-board of Craig's bed. “So, you and Kenny, huh?” Tweek grinned, and for the first time since they'd arrived, the others noticed that Craig seemed far more nervous, even outspoken, than Tweek was.

It was Butters' turn to blush. “Well, uhm, I guess? Yeah.”

“You have no idea how hard it is being the only gay couple,” Tweek added. “It's so much pressure!”

“Yeah, what was it Mr. Mackey said about expectations?” Kyle asked, as a sudden feeling of anxiety came over him.

“Shit!” Keith then exclaimed, as they were studying the fully-charged tablet.

“Something wrong with it?” Craig asked, but to Kyle, his voice seemed to echo. It grew deeper, as if Craig were speaking from inside a large, empty building, or from the bottom of a deep hole.

Kyle glanced over to look at it, but as he saw the skewed lines of the graph, Craig's voice changed even more. He wasn't even sure if he were still in Craig's room, as he took a deep breath, concentrating on the here-and-now. After all, the last thing he needed was for Craig or Tweek to see some kind of “Eclipse Event,” right in front of them. “Stabilize,” Kyle told himself, wondering that, of all the places and times, his abilities seemed to have picked Craig's room to 'short out'.

Keith was staring right at him, and Kyle could see a thin blue beam of light coming off of the meteorite. No one else seemed to notice it, though, as the beam was hitting Kyle right in the chest. Everything in his field of vision had a slight red tint to it, and it seemed cooler in the room.

“I wanna go to that LGBTQ+ youth conference in Denver next month,” Craig was saying in that deeper voice.

And was it Tweek replying? Kyle wasn't sure. He thought it was.

“Mom and Dad wouldn't let me go last year, Craig. What makes you think they will this year? I mean, yeah, they thought it was cute when were like ten years old, but now they're questioning it. And what with your Uncle?”

“So we just won't tell 'em where we're going, Babe,” Craig replied, “There's lots of other stuff to do in Denver.”

“You think they're gonna let a pair of sixteen year olds take off for a weekend in Denver?” Tweek asked. “After that one night where got into that fight up at Stark's Pond, that landed us both in the ER?”

“We're not gonna get beat up at a big conference, Honey,” Craig replied. “Besides, we gave as good as we got!”

“If Mysterion hadn't shown up, we'd have been killed!” Tweek exclaimed, “Him and that Eclipse kid!”

As Kyle came fully to his senses, he then realized just _why_ , despite all of Kenny's warnings, that Craig had been on Route 285 in Red Racer. As he listened to Craig, looking like some badly dubbed video playing out before him, words not matching his mouth, and topic not matching his age, he began to understand the series of events that would (that had already) played out.

The series of events that they were trying to change.

The series of events that would lead to Tweek's death.

“So we won't go up 285, we'll take the scenic tour,” Craig added.

“You know what Kenny said,” Tweek reminded him.

_So someday,Tweek and Craig's relationship isn't cute anymore, and they're going to have problems with fag-bashing? Some night after the car is restored, someone is going to attack them up at the pond, and Kenny and me will be there to rescue them! That night will be a turning point for their parents, too, and Craig's Uncle Skeeter will do or say something, too, that hurts them? That'll only strengthen Craig's resolve, and he'll insist on – and not be allowed – to go to Denver to some conference? And he's going to sneak off in his car, and take Tweek with him, anyway!_

_You know the event, now,_ Another-Kyle spoke up, as the room seemed to spin away, replaced by a rocky, empty, desert landscape.

 _I thought all this metaphysical bullshit was over with_? Kyle asked of the tall man facing him.

He was dressed in black, and wearing a hood over his head. As he lowered it, Kyle saw the full head of curly, gray hair, and the sparse goatee. Kyle looked around quickly, taking in the wind-blasted, arid ruin of a red planet.

“Mars?” he wondered.

“Earth,” The old man answered, and Kyle realized that he was looking at a much older version of himself.

Himself as Eclipse.

And Kyle realized just where and when he was: sitting on a dead earth, where Craig's house had once been, far enough into the future for the sun to have gone into a red giant phase.

“Y-you're me? You're Eclipse?” Kyle gasped.

“The _last_ Eclipse,” the old man nodded.

“Wait a minute!” Kyle exclaimed, “I thought, from what Keith said, that I couldn't go past my own lifetime? Something about a string theory? How the hell can you be here? It's gotta be like a billion years from now!”

“Five billion,” Eclipse corrected him, “And no, we're not that old. We just...get around!” He smiled. “Congratulations, Kyle. You've realized where the tipping point is. It won't be long now, that you'll realize how to fix it.”

“So we're not...immortal?” Kyle wondered, staring up at the nearly-gray sky tinged in red.

“I don't know, we're not dead yet,” Eclipse replied, shrugging.

“What about Kenny?” Kyle had to ask.

Eclipse sighed. “Only to a certain extent. But let's not get off the subject, OK?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I didn't bring you here, Kyle. YOU brought you here,” Eclipse informed him.

“When that beam of light shot out of Craig's rock?” Kyle asked.

Eclipse nodded.

“As soon as Keith realized the mistake he'd made, he set a new series of events in motion. Well, he might have. It has occurred. It _will_ occur. You were right about the Melting Clock Paradox, Kyle.” Eclipse paused to look around. “Now you know what you need to set it off, I think.”

Kyle felt as if he'd just been smacked. He nearly fell off the rock upon which he sat.

“It was ME!” Kyle squeaked in his unbroken voice, oddly realizing that Old Eclipse was speaking to him in a high, tenor voice that had only roughened with age.

Eclipse nodded. “You were the skewed line of Keith's graphs. You weren't there the first few times that Kenny tried to set this all right.”

“But why this time?” Kyle had to ask.

Eclipse only shrugged.

“Who knows? Fate? The need to know? The need to experience?” He paused again, and kicked a small rock. “Perhaps, even to set everything right again?”

“Everything?” Kyle wondered.

“EVERYTHING,” Eclipse replied ominously.

He then glanced over his shoulder, as if sensing something. The air seemed to ripple in a man-sized distortion, like looking through a window with water cascading down it. From out of the distortion stepped a man in a sky blue jacket.

He had black hair shot through with gray.

“Kevin...Stoley?!” Kyle squeaked in alarm.

Old Kevin flinched and glared at Eclipse.

“What the hell is HE doing here - NOW?” Kevin demanded.

Eclipse shrugged. “Sitting in Craig's room, as I recall, charging up Keith's tablet?”

“Any sign that he...they...Keith was detected?” Kevin snapped.

“Uhhh, no?” Kyle offered. “I'm sorry! We were just talking about the mistake Keith made, and -”

Kevin snorted and threw his hands up. Kyle noticed the large watch, the Discriminator, on his wrist.

“So you know how to fix it, now?” Kevin then asked pointedly.

“Uhm, I'm not sure?” Kyle held out his hands. “Are we talking about the crash on 285?”

Kevin palmed his face. Eclipse laughed.

“The _hell_ did you do to your hair?” Kevin then asked, peeking out from between his fingers.

Kyle just gaped at him.

“Never mind the bad haircut,” Eclipse said, “Just remember, you've got a fishing trip to revisit tonight. Well, _your_ tonight, when you go back.”

“Doesn't matter when he does it, so long as he does it,” Kevin clarified, which only confused Kyle. “They're realized where things went wrong, and they'll soon figure out how to fix it, and put this mess all right again.”

“So, you mean, the first time, things went right? Tweek didn't die?”

“Obviously,” Kevin agreed, “Otherwise, Keith and his people never would have come back to begin with.”

“And?” Kyle pressed him.

“You tell us?” Eclipse prompted him.

Kyle thought about it. “They came back that first time, from the future that was right. When they did, they set off those ripples that Keith was telling us about? Things changed, but they didn't change enough to prevent someone from the future coming back? Not all of them got wiped out? But the ripples they set off damaged the Timeline, like when Clyde died of cancer, Kenny killed himself at school, and Stan drank himself to death! The damage was bad to start with, but as it dissipated into the future, it eventually faded out until it didn't really affect them?”

“Close,” Kevin replied. “The ripples also dissipated into the past, which set off another chain reaction that messed things up.”

He paused.

“And that's what caused the crash that kills...killed Tweek?” Kyle snapped his fingers. “But we determined, from that other dream-dimension place-”

“Trans-Time,” Kevin cut in.

“Whatever,” Kyle went on, “We figured out that Cartman caused it. But he can't cause it now, now that he's in juvie?”

“What makes you think he's gonna _stay_ there?” Kevin countered.

Kyle remembered his trip to Nebraska some years before, when they'd all gone with Cartman to visit his family.

“His uncle broke out of jail!” Kyle gasped.

“Indeed,” Kevin agreed. “You see, one of the Cartmans had access to time travel tech. I'm to blame for that, in a way, when I started working on this damn thing!” He held up his hand, where the Discriminator glowed blue.

“YOU sent Keith back this time!” Kyle accused him.

“No, I only helped him along,” Kevin explained. “You know by now, that one of the reasons that they kept coming back, Korx – I mean, Keith – that is, was to get rid of you?”

Kyle nodded sadly.

“Brilliant move, smashing his Discriminator, and then adopting him,” Eclipse then smiled.

“Oh, don't get all maudlin!” Kevin sighed heavily, “Drones!” He held up his hands again, muttering to himself. “You know, it was one of _you_ lot that caused the Byzantine Empire to fall?” Kevin accused Kyle.

“What?!” Kyle squeaked. “Who, now?”

“1453, Byzantium!” Kevin informed him, “One of your lot left a door unlocked, and that was that! ONE friggin' door!”

“What the fuck does _that_ have to do with the price of tea in China?” Eclipse asked pointedly.

“Yeah, I thought this was about Tweek and Craig? And their offspring being so important to the future?” Kyle reminded them.

“He's talking about agenders, like you and Keith,” Eclipse explained, “It's one of his hang-ups.”

“That's not very PC,” Kyle mumbled.

“Well, I'm sorry, it freaks me out, and I'm not the only one it does,” Kevin stated.

“ _You're_ transphobic?” Kyle gasped.

“I'm sorry,” Kevin repeated. “Look, this whole thing with what you did to yourself, that morning of your camping trip, was just the start. Add in Tweek and Craig, and their son, J.C., and all their offspring, contributing to all the events that will eventually snowball into what determines the future, and you've got-”

“One of the Creek descendants leading to the invention of Drones?” Kyle surmised, unconsciously using the nickname of Tweek and Craig's relationship. “And somehow, some pissed-off Drone from the future ends up hooking up with a future Cartman, and trying to get rid of Tweek and Craig? Because _that_ Cartman was the CEO of a time travel business?”

The two men just looked at him.

The realization which then came over Kyle literally made him ill. As he leaned over the rock and retched, images began to flash through his mind. He was reading books about whether or not he really existed. They were stealing Tooth Fairy money from other kids. Cartman was asking if someone would take the books away from Kyle. Then Kyle was suddenly everything and nothing.

But he'd forgotten that.

But he hadn't forgotten it.

Somewhere, in the swirl or memory, Timmy went zipping by on his wheelchair, a blue flame trailing behind him before he vanished.

At some point in the rapid and sickening flood of memories, a blast of lightning obliterated the school. From the third floor windows, Kyle and several others, their ears still ringing from the blast, looked on in horror as the east end of South Park High School burned.

Kenny McCormick was dead.

Kenny McCormick was sitting in the cafeteria, choking on a grape.

“They get rid of people like me,” Kyle choked, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Keith was going to get rid of me, when it all shifted again, and I-”

Kyle couldn't say it.

Kevin went to him, and helped him up. He hugged him as a father would a distraught son.

“W-we thought it was always K-Kenny,” Kyle just managed, staring at the ruined landscape of future Earth, too shocked to even cry. “B-but it wasn't.”

He coughed, realizing that there was probably no water to be had where they were.

“It was _**me**_!”

Kyle shuddered.

“I'm the mistake,” he said flatly.

“ _We_ are,” Eclipse agreed, “The one skewed line that Keith's graph can't reconcile.” He then turned his back to them. “In all the Timelines, with all the changes, and for all that we can do,” Eclipse went on, “Once WE came into being, it all went to hell! THIS is our legacy. Five billion years or not, thirteen year old Kyle, or vastly old Eclipse, the end result is always the same. It makes you wonder, doesn't it?”

“What?” Kyle asked.

“You tell me?” Eclipsed answered with yet another question.

“Hold on, I thought Kenny was the one who started all this, when HE got thrown back in time?” Kyle pointed out.

“And you coming into your own – becoming Eclipse – you think that didn't set off a temporal explosion in some other place, some other time?” Kevin reminded him. “Sometimes, you observe the end result before the cause, remember?”

“ _I'm_ the mistake,” Kyle repeated, “I wasn't supposed to … be!”

And then another realization hit him.

“And Keith knew...knows...it!”

“And yet, here you are?” Kevin reminded him. “Why do you think that is, Kyle?” He asked, sounding much like a parent trying to comfort his brokenhearted child.

Kyle sniffled. He thought about Korx, and how he'd felt sorry for the child. He thought about Keith, once the Drone had changed identities, trapped in Kyle's present. Alone and afraid. He thought about Keith as Kelly at his Bar Mitzvah. He thought about the girls he'd known before, and felt nothing. He thought the one time he'd kissed Stan, and felt nothing but for friendship.

He thought about kissing Keith-as-Kelly at the Bar Mitzvah.

He thought about what he'd _felt_ then.

And then the tears came.

“B-because he...they... _love_ me!” Kyle finally broke down as that emotion, those feelings that he thought he'd never know, overcame him.

Old Kevin held young Kyle until he cried it out.

Time passed, or it didn't. In the western sky, the nightmare of a red sun began to set. As the light died, a bit of blue began to return to sky, short-lived, as the fiery twilight gave way to night. Still, it wasn't really dark. The stars even looked reddish.

And Kyle remembered something that Kenny had once said.

“No matter what I do, somebody always dies!”

_Somebody always dies..._

Kyle Broflovski, all of thirteen years old, then stood up to face the not-quite-dark eastern horizon.

“I know what I have to do,” Kyle whispered.

He then slowly turned his head to face the two adults, who then dissolved into dust and blew away. It reminded Kyle of a movie that he could not possibly have seen yet, as he knew it hadn't yet been filmed.

But it had.

Somewhere, somewhen, in some other far-away place and time, Tweek was dying.

A child wasn't being born.

And his child wasn't.

Nor was his child.

It was as if the future were turning to dust and blowing away before his eyes.

The wind picked up as he turned to go, a hot wind that Kyle had never noticed before. He was thirsty. More than anything, he wanted a drink.

He remembered that cold, clear, mountain lake water.

On the other side of that blasted, empty planet, Earth burned in the red heat.

But there was no one there.

In his parched throat, Kyle felt the soothing water. It was cold as he sank, deeper and deeper, relishing in the wet darkness of the mountain lake.

It could not have been a harsher contrast.

Far beneath the surface of the mountain lake, Kyle drank deeply.

Then he was someone (someone else) rising up out of the water, then, unbelievably, standing on top of it.

“Kyle?” Keith asked from the beach, his voice soft so as not to wake the others.

“I think so, now,” Kyle's voice replied, as the humanoid form moved towards Keith, walking on the water.

As he stepped off the beach and into the firelight, Kyle drew in a deep breath. He spread his arms, leaning his head back and stretching, parting his feet to steady himself.

He wasn't there telling them about his first day of the eighth grade. No, he'd already done that, hadn't he?

To Keith, it certainly looked like Kyle: same short red hair, same eyes, same nose...

Then Keith inhaled sharply, his eyes widening at the form before him that showed no outward signs of gender.

“Ohhhhh, Kyle?” Keith wondered, “What have you done?”

“I think this is right. It feels right,” Kyle assured his brother, pulling Keith into a hug. “Finally!”

In one of the tents, Kyle knew, Kenny was asleep.

 _And I know now what I have to do_! Kyle thought.

 


	34. Stans of Future Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning from the far future, Kyle realizes what he has to do. When he tells his friends, one of them doesn't take it very well. Despite all that, after a short visit with Tweek & Craig, the heroes suit up and set out to save Pete Thelman from jumping off the water tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Implied underage sex mentioned as having taken place, but not detailed! If that bothers you, don't read this. (I mean, c'mon, we're talking about Kenny here?)  
> And a personal admission, I'm just coming off a Marvel binge watch, and also watched a let's-play of 'The Fractured But Whole', so I sorta alluded to them.  
> Special thanks to the author fallingwthstyle for breaking my writer's block on this chapter, too! I swear, I'd never seen your story before I started writing this behemoth.  
> If you're not reading his latest fic here, go do so now.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**34**

**Stans of Future Past**

*****

_I watched the world float to the_   
_Dark side of the moon_   
_After all I knew it had to be something_   
_To do with you_   
_I really don't mind what happens now and then_   
_As long as you'll be my friend at the end._   
_3 Doors Down_   
_Kryptonite_

*  


It was later when Kyle came to his senses again, and he really wasn't sure where he was. He blinked a few times, seeing a great deal of orange and yellow. He could just make out someone mumbling, “Oh, just let him nap.”

“No red,” Kyle mumbled, wondering that the last thing he remembered was coming up out of the water at the mountain lake again. Yet there he was, in Craig Tucker's room, in the same spot as when he'd left.

 _But how long ago did I leave? Does it even matter?_ Kyle didn't think that it did. Given what he'd just experienced, however, he wasn't quite sure what to think.

 _Steady, now,_ Some-Other-Kyle spoke up in his mind.

“What?” Kenny asked.

“Damn, is he finally awake?” Craig asked, glancing up from the game he was playing with Tweek.

“What happened?” Kyle wondered, glancing over at Keith, who was busily studying the recharged future tablet. Kyle bit his own lower lip, but said nothing.

“You just keeled over and went to sleep!” Tweek exclaimed. “But your pump said you were at 102. We called Scott, and he said that was OK?”

“I was...out?” Kyle winked at Kenny, who seemed to get it.

“I guess this is what I get for missing staff meetings?” Kenny smirked, nudging Keith's side.

“You smell like an eggroll, Kenny!” Craig declared.

Kenny held up a large bag of takeout. “You guys want this or not?”

“We got bigger problems than eggrolls,” Keith told them, pulling Kyle and Kenny aside. He did, however, grab an eggroll. He showed them his tablet. Stan and Butters leaned in for a better look.

There was one red mark on the graph, but no longer a line. It skewed off in a hyperbolic curve – in both directions.

“Past _and_ future?” Kenny wondered.

“It's never done that before,” Keith added. “I didn't think it _could_ do that!”

“It's probably me,” Kyle guessed, slowly coming back to himself, and deciding to keep quiet for the moment about what he'd seen. “That's...a hyperbola, right?”

“Fucking conic sections,” Stan mumbled, “Bad as fractions in the fourth grade!”

“Just where _were_ you, Kyle?” Kenny demanded to know, his voice dropping to an almost-Mysterion-like-tone. “You look like hell!”

“Where _and_ when. I'll tell you later tonight,” Kyle assured them. “It's past ten? We should get home,” he told Keith.

“I already called Mom,” Keith told him, which sounded strange, as the child usually addressed their adoptive parents by first name. In fact, the Time Refugee wasn't sure that Gerald and Sheila Broflovski even knew that he'd been adopted.

“You guys can come back over tomorrow,” Craig spoke up, “I could use some help putting my rear end back together!”

“No one wants to work on your rear end, Craig!” Tweek told him, realizing too late how _that_ must have sounded, as they all collapsed in laughter.

“NRGH! I didn't mean – I mean, I... YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!” Tweek exclaimed, blushing furiously.

“C'mon, Leo, maybe we can work on _your_ rear end, once we find out what's bothering Kyle?” Kenny prompted him.

“KEN!” Butters gasped.

“Yeah, it's closer to eleven, we should probably go,” Stan offered. “Thank God we moved back to town from that hellhole of a farm!”

“It's Friday night,” Craig stated, “You guys don't _have_ to go?”

From what he knew of Craig, at least the Craig that he'd known in those other aborted futures, Kenny wasn't too surprised. He remembered that one night that the Tuckers had taken him in. Kyle, Stan, and Butters were surprised at the invitation, though.

“ _That wasn't an invitation, Kenny,” Thomas said, pointing at the door._ Kenny remembered those words. He also remembered how he'd broken down in the shower that night. It seemed like another lifetime.

“Don't you have to open the café in the morning, Tweek?” Butters asked.

“Nope,” Tweek smiled.

“I had a _talk_ with Tweek's dad,” Craig's father Thomas added ominously, peeking in the doorway, “And don't forget your meds!” He told Tweek, “I want you in bed by twelve, son. No staying up all night playing that silly cowboy game again!”

“I know, sir, I know,” Tweek sighed, getting up from the paused game and heading to the bathroom. He came back dressed in pyjamas printed with space objects.

Stan raised an eyebrow.

Tweek looked very self-conscious as he unpaused the game.

 _He looks small... fragile?_ Kenny thought, glancing at his friends, and noting the looks on their faces.

He remembered those other futures: A more robust Tweek. And a version of Tweek that had a heart attack in junior high.

And, of course, the Tweek who'd died out on Route 285.

_Trust me, you do NOT wanna look over in the tall grass!_

“Hey! My PJ's have feet, too!” Butters then exclaimed. Everyone just looked at him. “What? What's _wrong_ with that?”

“Some of us don't _wear_ PJ's, Leo,” Kenny reminded him with a leer.

“I should really take Kyle home,” Keith said, rolling their eyes, “He's looking kinda green.”

“You rebuilding the 'Vette's rear end with full posi?” Stan asked.

“Hell yes!” Craig exclaimed. “Thinking about putting in airplane gears for top end!”

“I'll be here!” Stan agreed, as they made to go.

“Craig,” Tweek started to protest, but Craig cut him off.

“Tweek's been evicted from the garage,” Craig informed Stan, “He's got an important gig coming up, and we can't risk his hands.”

“Oh?” Wha's that?” Butters asked, as they were getting up to go.

“I...I have to go to...A-Atlantic City, in New Jersey,” Tweek mumbled.

“WHERE?!” Kyle gasped.

“Jersey, you heard him, Kiley!” Kenny laughed, drawling out the words as “Jooowzeee” and “huuuwrd”. Kyle punched Kenny's arm. Kenny playfully punched him back and snickered.

“Trent wants Tweek to lay down the organ tracks for his new album,” Craig explained, “It's the biggest organ there is!” He added proudly.

“Oh, _really_?” Kenny smirked again. “So Tweek's going to play with a huge organ?”

“GAGH!” Tweek exclaimed, dropping his controller.

“What IS it with you today?” Stan demanded of Kenny.

“Sounds like he's sexually frustrated to me,” Craig shrugged, nonplussed as ever. “Tweek, did you remember to take-”

“God-dammit, Craig! I'm not a _baby_!” Tweek interrupted him, perhaps a bit too hotly, making everyone pause to stare at him.

“You know, you're adorable when you're angry?” Kenny smiled at Tweek, just noticing the flicker of emotion on Craig's face that was gone just as quickly as it had come.

“No, seriously, tell us about this pipe organ, Tweek?” Kyle wondered.

Tweek made an indelicate sound, but his face softened. “Based on the number of pipes, it's the _**Boardwalk Hall Auditorium Organ**_ in Atlantic City, New Jersey. It was built by the Midmer-Losh Organ Company between 1929 and 1932. It's got seven manuals, 449 ranks, 337 registers, and 33,114 pipes. It weighs approximately 150 tons!” Tweek recited the stats breathlessly.

“In other words,” Craig translated, “It's a bored-over big-block engine with a blower and nitrous!”

“So, that organ, if it was a car, makes your 'Vette look like a rusty old 1974 VW Bug?” Stan asked.

“Exactly!” Tweek smiled. “And _I_ get to play it!”

Kenny and Kyle exchanged a look. They both knew full-well that Trent Boyette should have, according to what Kenny knew, been sitting in juvie. Still, given the changes to the timeline by Kyle masquerading as Mysterion, Eric Cartman should have been sitting in there with Trent. But Cartman was now in juvie alone, and Trent was at Winchester Cathedral in England with Pip.

Never mind that Pip should have been dead.

“Can I give you a ride, boys?” Thomas asked, as they made to go.

“Yeah, that'd be great, sir!” Kyle agreed, looking up from his phone, “If you could just drop us at Kenny's, please?” He glanced at Kenny. “Dad's always up late on weekends. It's OK with him.”

*

After Thomas Tucker had dropped them at Kenny's house, the boys went inside and down to Kenny's Mysterion Lair. Carol was not yet off work, and Kevin and Karen were already in bed.

“All right, spill it, Kyle!” Kenny demanded, “What did you see when you zoned out at Craig's?”

“I was...I was in the future,” Kyle fumbled, still able to recall it clearly without even calling on his Eclipse abilities. “The far future. I thought I was on Mars, at first. It had to be millions, maybe billions, of years. The sun had gone red.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stan cut in, “I didn't know _you_ could travel in time?”

“Only along the course of his own lifetime, we thought,” Kenny theorized.

“It had to be a vision,” Kyle clarified, “But what I don't get, is that I was there. Then. I was _there_ , with another me,” he paused. “And I was _old_.”

“You're telling us you live for a _billion_ years?!” Butters scoffed.

“I...I think that the Kyle I met there was the _last_ of us,” Kyle added grimly.

“Is that any crazier than what's _already_ happened to us?” Kenny countered. “Remember, Leo, I'm like eighteen, up here,” Kenny tapped his own forehead. “I've done this twice before already. Time travel, I can't die, and you remembering other Timelines? Is it _that_ crazy, Kyle going that far ahead?”

“Not at all,” Stan sighed.

“It's possible,” Keith mused, “If someone used some kind of tech, from the future, to bring another Kyle from some other point in the Timeline ahead. _That_ older Kyle, or Eclipse, would then be able to show _our_ Kyle that time-frame.”

“It was Kevin Stoley,” Kyle admitted, “And _he_ was old, too.”

Keith made a small sound, but they all heard it. They all saw the look on his face.

“What?” Stan asked.

“Kevin was...was kind to me, once,” Keith explained. “He helped me out.”

“Well, uhm, yeah, seein' as how he invents that damn thing on your wrist in thirty years!” Butters pointed out. “Is it all charged up now?”

Keith nodded.

“You gonna leave?” Kyle asked Keith again.

Keith shook their bald head. They looked down at their feet and sniffled.

“What did he tell you?” Keith finally asked Kyle, “Kevin, I mean?”

“Not sure I should tell you,” Kyle replied.

“We might be better off _not_ knowing,” Kenny agreed.

Kyle thought about it, but he did not consult any other Kyles – or any other Eclipses. Finally, he looked up. His face was hard, but his green eyes were bright.

Then those eyes flashed the unnamed colors that Kenny recognized before returning to normal green: those colors from that infinite Void.

“This all started when Cartman caused the accident that killed Tweek,” Kyle began, “But I don't think it _was_ an accident. I think he _knew_ that Tweek and Craig were going to be out on 285 headed to that LGBTQ+ convention in Denver. I think Cartman _tried_ to murder them both!”

“WHAT?!” They all gasped.

“Damn!” Butters inhaled sharply, “I knew Eric was fucked up, but I didn't think he'd...”

“The Tennormans? That hooker at the vape shop in fourth or fifth grade? The anger management guy's wife?” Kyle reminded them, “His own future self?” He shook his head. “No, there's no accounting for how psycho Cartman is. He tried to exterminate the Jews once, remember that? With Mel Gibson and his movie? Hell, there's no lines he _won't_ cross!”

“But why?” Stan wondered.

“Probably acting on orders from a future self that escaped via Trans-Time,” Keith theorized, “It's possible that our Future Eclipse that got Future Assassin-Cartman the other night didn't manage to wipe out all _possible_ Cartmans from the future!”

“Are we talking temporal multiverse here?” Stan asked, “Like on _ **Star Trek**_?”

“Damn, this is worse than _**The Terminator**_ ,” Butters sighed.

“No,” Keith shook their head, “As far as we know, temporal multiverses are just parallel timelines that collapse or oscillate for a short while, until they merge or end, back to where they should have been. Like merging onto a freeway. Three lanes become two.”

“They didn't explain it all to me,” Kyle resumed, “But old-me and old-Kevin mentioned that Tweek and Craig are going to have a son, J.C. Tucker, and that the boy is going to do something controversial. In fact, a great-grand-Tucker is one of the guys who thought up the idea of drones, from the genetic engineering techniques that made it possible for Craig and Tweek to have a son with their own DNA, and a donor egg.”

“Tear out the mother's DNA, leave a shell, insert the guys' DNA, no biggie,” Keith shrugged. “Stick it in a growth tank, hit 'brew', and wait nine months,” Keith shrugged again. “It's kinda like a Mr. Coffee machine, you know.”

“Just...stop,” Stan made a face.

“Maybe J.C., or one of his kids, will bust Cartman, in the future?” Butters wondered.

“Maybe,” Kyle agreed, “Doesn't matter. But I know what I have to do now.”

“What's that?” Stan asked, after an awkward pause.

But it was Kenny who answered.

“I thought it'd be me,” Kenny rasped, his voice low as The Other took over. He headed towards the hidden closet and opened it, staring at the upgraded costumes that hung there. “Dammit, Kyle, I'd HOPED it'd be me!” He chose a particularly black costume.

“Sorry to wreck your plans,” Kyle apologized, as Kenny began to change clothes.

“What plans?” Stan asked, his voice a whisper, as his face began to lose color. It was as if he already knew.

“It's deliciously chaotic!” Butters cut in, his voice altering as well.

“Now is _not_ a good time for an MPD crisis,” Keith sighed.

“When HE comes,” Stan reminded them, his voice odd as well. He cracked his knuckles, but he still looked ill. “I know what you're planning, Kyle, and I can't let you do that!”

“I HAVE to do it, Stan!” Kyle retorted, “It's the only way!”

“It's NOT!” Kenny disagreed hotly, pulling on his cowl.

“What are you talking about?” Butters asked, but it was clear that Professor Chaos was taking over.

“ _I'm_ the reason that Kenny was thrown back in time,” Kyle dropped the information on them.

They all froze.

“It's all a messed up loop of events set in motion by time travel,” Kyle went on, looking to Keith to stop him if he made an error. “The first time through, things were fine. Tweek _didn't_ die in the crash, and Craig wasn't hurt. Their son was born, became very important, and so did their future offspring. One of them apparently worked...will work...with the powers-that-be to initiate the time travel program-”

“And Ziggy,” Keith cut in. “A later Tucker created her, yes.”

“The AI computer?” Stan asked, and Keith nodded.

“ _Now_ he tells us!” Kenny threw up his hands in frustration.

“Not to mention the drones,” Keith added, “No Tweek means no ME in the future.”

“That's how and why you were in the cemetery – the Trans-Time dimension?” Kenny asked, and Keith nodded again. “They sent you there, after the recovery from the first wipeout of the Futurists? When we spruced up the town, and then the gay dogpile thing? They sent you there for safety!”

“Then,” Kyle resumed, “Apparently, some version of Cartman got a wild hair up his ass, and decided to assassinate Tweek and Craig. Get rid of them, no more Tuckers. No J.C., and no AI inventor. No one to work on the project with Keith's lot. No Drones. No Gooback invasion. The Cartman that was the CEO that _our_ Cartman wiped out of existence comes back, and Cartman is rich and famous again. He runs it all. But, someone using Trans-Time notices things going wrong. An agent is dispatched to-”

“Get rid of a dangerous Metahuman, which we wrongly blamed for the accident,” Keith interrupted again. “Sorry! Uncle really blew that one.”

“'s'OK,” Kyle grinned wanly at him, tearing up just a bit. “Keith is sent back for recon, of me. In doing so, the temporal ripples make changes. Keith was sent because he...they... was here before, and knew the locals. But what they all didn't count on was Keith getting sentimental and making a few more changes.”

“They didn't count on me not being able to hurt you,” Keith admitted, blushing.

“And like saving Chef and Pip and Terrance?” Stan asked.

Kyle nodded, as did Keith.

“But that bad Cartman got busted the other night?” Butters asked.

“Leo,” Kenny told him, trying to sound gentle and not condescending (as if he understood it all?), “We know that Tweek still dies. We've all seen the grave, in the other dimension. If our Tweek dies, that means that our Cartman gets out of jail to run amok. He's already done it. Sometime to come.”

“Meanwhile, Kenny from the future, let's call him Kenny-18, is so fucked up over Tweek's death and Craig's maiming – and later suicide – that he tries to finally kill himself. Only Kenny-18 CAN'T kill himself, 'cause _he_ can't die. He tries it though, but somehow gets caught in a temporal explosion set off about four years from now, out on 285.” Kyle paused. They were listening intently.

“But the explosion happens and takes Kenny-18, _before_ you cause it?” Butters wondered, yanking off his boots, “Since you weren't ever Eclipse before, until now?”

“A hyperbolic temporal explosion,” Keith agreed, “Result before the cause, and damage in _four_ directions.”

“That temporal explosion was caused by ME, putting this mess right, as Kenny couldn't. _Can't_ ,” Kyle added the last word sadly. “That's why I can't see beyond the crash. The other Kyles won't let me, because they all already know. But when I blipped out at Craig's just now, and ended up with old-me and old-Kevin in the far future, I figured it out. _That_ changed things – when I finally made the connection.”

“So _Cartman_ started all this shit?!” Stan gasped.

“Doesn't he always?” Butters snorted, pulling a suitcase from the closet. He opened it, revealing a spare Chaos costume.

Kyle gave Kenny, now dressed as Mysterion, a long, hard look.

“You said it yourself, Kenny – somebody _always_ dies. No matter how hard _you_ tried, no matter who you saved, someone _else_ always died,” Kyle reminded him. “Every time you visited that cemetery, the gravestones were different! But for Tweek's. Don't you see it? The tablet? The hyperbolic graph? It's _**me**_! I'm the only one who could skew a thousand years of calculations off the scale like that, in both directions! No one's died yet, Kenny. Not _this_ time.” Kyle paused. He finally said, “Not _here_ , at least. There.”

“There?” Keith asked.

“Then,” Kyle clarified. “In the far future. Some billion years or more from now, I dunno. When Earth is a scorched, dead wasteland, devoid of life. When the sun's a giant, red nightmare burning the sky, that's when the bill gets paid. Or four years from now. Maybe it just has to sit and earn interest for a billion years, I dunno. What I _do_ know is that _**I**_ pay for it!” Kyle declared, his voice oddly even, and his face calm.

“You said result before the cause, sometimes?” Stan asked Keith.

Keith nodded.

Stan turned back to Kyle.

“I saw that older-me die,” Kyle clarified, “He just turned to dust, and blew away, when I figured out that it was me.”

Kyle didn't mention old-Kevin turning to dust as well. He thought about it, but the look on his adopted brother's face stopped him.

 _No, I don't think Keith could take it, knowing that what we did killed Kevin,_ Kyle decided.

Stan looked stricken, but Kyle wasn't going to be swayed.

“It's me, Stan,” Kyle repeated, “ _I'm_ the mistake.”

“NO!” Stan protested, grabbing his best friend by the forearms. “You _can't_ , Kyle! I won't _let_ you!”

Kyle smiled wanly. “Stan, it's like Keith said – a meta like me only comes along once in a thousand years. They get rid of us. Given what's happened, what's _gonna_ happen, I'm pretty sure of one thing.” He looked at Stan's stricken face. He said it: “I'm not supposed to exist.”

“Kyle, no!” Stan gasped.

“Stan, you really think you could stop me?” Kyle asked, in a voice not at all haughty. “It _has_ occurred, Stan. It WILL occur. This is gonna be the final confrontation between Cartman and me. Between Cartman the Time-Travel CEO, and Eclipse.”

“I...I don't fuckin' _get_ any of this!” Stan choked, falling on Kyle, who caught him. “You're t-telling us, you're gonna sac...sacrifice yourself to save...the f-future?!”

Kyle nodded somberly.

“I already have, Stan,” Kyle assured him. “I prevent the crash, Tweek lives, I die, time explodes in both directions, and Kenny comes back in time to make sure that I become Eclipse to stop the crash. It's a Predestination Paradox. It's all one huge, erroneous loop, spinning around for billions of years. I have to break that loop, Stan! I HAVE to!”

The boys said nothing at all for a long time, shocked into silence by what Kyle had just said.

It was very nearly too enormous to comprehend.

Kenny and Butters had fully changed into Mysterion and Chaos.

It was Mysterion, his voice very rough, who finally broke the silence.

“Tweek died. Craig killed himself later. Clyde died. So did Timmy and Jimmy. Butters and Kyle were both a mess, zombies, really. And my life was hell on earth. All those friendships, ruined.” Mysterion paused. “And Stan died, too,” he reminded them. “Never mind Terrance, Pip, Chef, Georgie Smith, Teddy, and all the other collateral damage!”

“What happened to me?” Kyle finally asked.

Mysterion looked away.

“What happened to Kyle in those other futures of yours, Kenny?” Stan demanded, still clinging to Kyle, as if by sheer force of will he could stop him from executing his plan. "You said you came back twice?"

“They no longer exist,” Mysterion replied, turning suddenly, making them jump. Behind his cowl, the white eyeslots glowed in myriad colors. The same light leaked from out of his glove, where that one tiny, dim point of light he'd been carrying for so long now shone brightly. “Kyle was a loner, I told you! But he was alive!”

“You're lying,” Stan called his bluff.

Mysterion turned away.

_NO, Stan, I'm not telling you. You don't need to know why I left the future a second time._

“You coming, Professor?” Mysterion finally growled.

“So help me God, Mysterion,” Stan threatened him, releasing Kyle, “I'll put a spike nail right through your fucking head if you don't tell me!”

“DO IT!” Mysterion challenged him, pulling his .38 from his upgraded utility belt. “Here! I'll save you the trouble! Wouldn't be the first time! But _this_ time, you'll fucking remember!”

“Guys, stop! Please STOP!” Keith cried, as they all looked at the child.

“Kyle was alive, both times, when I left that Kenny-18-future,” Mysterion assured them. “I'm not lying.”

And Mysterion said it coldly, lying to their faces about the aborted future that he'd never mentioned to anyone.

That future where he'd left Leo standing there alone in front of the high school.

That future where Kyle Broflovski had been found on the dock at Stark's Pond, as if he'd simply sat there all night long and let himself freeze to death.

Stan turned back to Kyle to see him just finish pixelating into his Eclipse outfit. This time, the face mask shone with a blazing emblem of a solar eclipse over his face. It literally gave off light, the only color to the black outfit that seemed to absorb all light that hit it, much like a black hole.

“He's not lying, Stan,” the choral voice of an unknowable number of Kyles assured him. He reached out to Stan, who flinched back a little. Still, Eclipse took his hands. “He loved you, you know. Rather, _I_ love you. We gave up tenses a long time ago, when we're like this,” Eclipse explained. “You died, Stan. It destroyed us, but we survived.”

_Perhaps in one Timeline. One rare, precious Timeline..._

“Th-that's not...s-surviving,” Stan choked, tears on his face.

“It's existing,” Eclipse clarified, “And sometimes, _that's_ enough.”

“Wh-why didn't you fuckin' tell me, Kyle?” Stan cried. “That n-night you k-kissed me, and we...”

“That was this Kyle, not that Kyle,” Eclipse explained, his choral voice soothing, as he reached out a black-gloved hand to wipe away Stan's tears. “But I am he, and he is me. So perhaps, now, he finally understands?” Eclipse then looked at Keith. “ _He_ already understood. _I_ understand.”

“It's silly to talk about yourself in the third person,” Chaos told him, sounding snotty.

Keith smiled, but didn't get up. They only nodded.

“Besides, the future needs Stan Marsh, and generations of Marshes to come,” Eclipse added.

Stan made a wry face.

“Let's not go _there_ , OK?” Stan conceded, as the lower half of Eclipse's mask vanished.

They shared a passionate kiss.

“I...I was gonna, I mean, I was ready to die for you, that one time, when you were sick,” Stan reminded him. “Or did that even happen, now?”

“I know,” Eclipse agreed, “And no, it didn't. But that love's still here, and we both know it, Stan. Agape?”

Stan nodded. “Agape. And that's _all_ it is.”

“It's everything,” Eclipse nodded, “It conquers all, remember?”

“You're still my super-best-friend, though,” Stan added, somewhat childishly.

"To the end," Kyle smiled.

Keith smiled too. They turned back to the computer.

“I guess I'm the guy in the chair, then?” Keith asked.

“They _guy_ in the _chair_!” Chaos agreed happily, stressing each word.

“You feeling super?” Eclipse asked Stan.

“I think I am! Thanks for asking,” The voice of Toolshed replied, as he reached under the bed to pull out a large case. “I keep a spare set here, you know!”

Eclipse raised his hand, and in a blur of pixelation, Toolshed stood before them. His yellow safety glasses were replaced by a black helmet with a yellow face shield, complete with an advanced headset for communications. A backpack attached to small vacuum lines running down his arms, powering the pneumatic weapons gauntlets he wore there. His toolbelt was also loaded.

“Thanks,” Toolshed said, turning to Keith, who was studying a map on the computer.

“Pete Thelman is here,” Keith pointed at the screen, having interfaced his tablet to the suped-up PC.

“Pete? The Goth kid?” Chaos wondered.

“I thought you said _he_ didn't matter?” Mysterion reminded him.

“ _Every_ life matters,” Keith replied, seeming to have changed his tone.

Toolshed nodded in agreement. “We were friends, I guess you'd call it, once. In a way, it's my fault he OD'd and died. I have to stop that from happening.”

“Gentlemen,” Eclipse offered, raising his hands, “If that's OK?”

“Last time I checked!” Chaos smiled, his aluminum foil mask now replaced by an actual brushed aluminum one. It seemed that after the confrontation with Stuart McCormick and Facebook Guy, the boys had upgraded their costumes with body armor.

“Where'd you get the Kevlar?” Toolshed asked.

“Don't ask,” Mysterion snorted, “Your uncle'll never miss it.”

“You're OK with this?” Eclipse asked Toolshed, as they pixelated away to intercept a drug deal.

“I may yet prevail,” Toolshed replied mysteriously.

When they were gone, Keith bowed his head and cried.

“Don't underestimate him, child,” the man in the shadows assured Keith, coming up behind him to place his gnarled, shaky hands on Keith's shoulders. “Thought you drones weren't _able_ to experience this kind of emotion?”

“I was supposed to kill him, not fall in love with him,” Keith sniffled. “It would have prevented all this mess! I had ONE job, and I blew it. I went and got cocoa and donuts, and went to a party instead.”

“Would it have solved it, ya think?” The man asked in reply. “You folks were wrong, after all.”

Keith reached back to lay a small, smooth hand on the man's.

“Guess they didn't code me quite right, huh?” Keith offered. “Silly! A drone in love with... _him_!”

“'Him', is it, now? Oh, I think I got your genetic code _just_ right,” the man shrugged, running his other hand through his wild, spikey, black hair. He twitched once, looking around. “Kenny got a coffee pot anywhere in this place?” He then asked, checking his Discriminator.

“You in a hurry?” Keith asked.

“Time waits for no one!” The old man laughed.

*

“I still think you look like some cute, cuddly, shrunk-down version of Thor, with that hair and hammer,” Mysterion chuckled, as the group of heroes had taken up a position in the bushes across from the truckstop south of town.

“Fuck you!” Chaos replied.

“Promise?” Mysterion grinned

“IF I remember,” Toolshed interrupted, “We used to – will – meet our contact over by the minibarn where they keep the fuel spill cleanup stuff. Behind the dumpsters.”

“So, who was it?” Eclipse asked.

“Some high school guys,” Toolshed replied, “The ones what supplied the sophomores we busted not long ago.”

“This is going to make even more changes, won't it?” Chaos asked.

“Let's hope so, otherwise, me and Pete end up naked atop the water tower, and Pete ends up as street-pizza,” Toolshed reminded them.

“Anything's better than that last future,” Mysterion nodded, as a rattling old Chevy truck pulled away from the gas island and went to park at the side.

“That's them,” Toolshed observed, “I remember the truck.”

“Even though you've never done it yet?” Mysterion grinned sarcastically.

“Don't start!” Eclipse sighed.

“I thought Pete was still hanging out with Henrietta and them?” Chaos asked.

“He is, for now, but they don't know he's into acid,” Toolshed answered, as they split up to move into position. Toolshed keyed up his headset. “I'll take the roof. Chaos, you come around the minibarn. Eclipse, you beam yourself into the dumpster.”

“Thanks so much,” Eclipse grumbled.

“I'll come around the north side of the building,” Mysterion added, as they took the drain pipe under the highway, then moved into position and waited.

It didn't take long for a boy on a bicycle to arrive. He was dressed, as usual, in black.

“He looks like shit,” Toolshed observed, lowering his mini-binoculars.

“No doubt,” Mysterion agreed, the voices clear in his upgraded cowl's speakers.

PIFF!

“The usual?” One of the high school boys asked, not even bothering to get out of the truck. He jerked his head around when he heard a hissing sound, though.

“Fuck! Flat tire!” One of his friends complained. “You ran over a nail, dumbass!”

“Ya think?” Toolshed whispered to himself.

“I've got the security cameras looping yesterday's feed,” Keith's voice cut in over their comms, “You're all clear!”

“This won't get you much!” The truck's owner told Pete, counting the boy's money.

“Yeah, it will!” Pete countered, pulling a small handgun from his vest pocket.

“Awww, shit!” Eclipse groaned, peeking out from under the dumpster lid.

“Pete never had a fuckin' gun!” Toolshed gasped.

“Hand it over, all of it!” Pete ordered the older boys.

“Now's the time, his line just went off the graph!” Keith cut in.

“Not a good idea,” Mysterion announced, coming around the side of the building, as Chaos came up from behind. With a THUD, Toolshed landed on the roof of the truck. He fired a bolt from the gauntlet on his left wrist, shooting it through the hood and into the truck's radiator.

“Don't move!” Toolshed warned them, aiming the gauntlets at them, “Or the next one goes through your skull!”

Pete moved to take aim at him, but found the gun vanishing from his hand.

A black-gloved hand then came down firmly on his shoulder. Pete jerked his head around in surprise, but one of the older boys threw open the passenger side door. He pulled a gun as well, but dropped it as Chaos' hammer hit the side of his head. He went down, and did not get back up.

“Shit! It's mini-Avengers!” The driver gasped, trying to start the truck. As Eclipse pulled Pete back, Mysterion grabbed the driver by the collar and pulled him halfway out the window. He punched him in the face. Blood flew. Toolshed took out another of the tires, waving his left hand menacingly at the other teen.

“Where are you getting this stuff?” Toolshed demanded, as Pete seemed frozen in Eclipse's grip. He looked terrified.

“Like we'd tell you kids where -” one of them began, but Mysterion already had him out of the truck.

Mysterion tightened his grip on the teen's neck. “Tell me!”

“Fuck you!” the teen rasped.

Mysterion gripped him tighter. The teen aimed a punch at his stomach, but his knuckles broke when he connected with the body armor. He cried out in pain. He turned to his third friend for help, only to find him unconscious on the ground. Chaos was eyeing him, and grinning.

“You'll tell me, or we'll force it out of you!” Mysterion told him.

“You, sit,” Eclipse told Pete, who did that. Pete moved like a zombie to lean up against the building, his face blank.

“Y-you're that Eclipse kid! Holy shit, he's real!” The driver just managed, as Mysterion proceeded to choke him, and his second friend decided to make a run for it. He didn't get far before Chaos' hammer connected with the back of his skull and he went down.

“Let off,” Eclipse suggested, as Mysterion released his grip. Eclipse then grabbed the driver by the face.

The teen screamed.

“I know where to look,” Eclipse said grimly.

The driver then pissed himself.

“What did you do to him?” Mysterion asked, as the older boy collapsed back into the seat with a blank look on his face.

“Wiped his mind back to about twelve years old, when he was still a good kid,” Eclipse shrugged, “He'll get over it in a few years. After he re-learns everything.”

“Get out of there, guys!” Keith cut in, “A 911 call just went out on you! You've been seen!”

“Holy shit!” Pete gasped, shaking his head, “I must be trippin'!”

“Did you kill 'em?” Mysterion asked of Chaos.

“No, they're alive,” Chaos replied, checking his two victims and retrieving his hammer.

“We're outta here,” Eclipse decided, as they all (Pete included) began to pixelate.

When the police arrived, the found the truck with its flat tires, the unconscious teens, and one of them sitting in the truck crying for his mother.

They also found a sizable amount of drugs.

“Detective Yates?” One of the officers said, holding up a 4”x4” piece of paper.

It was cardstock, printed with a picture of a solar eclipse.

“It was pinned to the hood of the truck with this, sir,” The officer then held up a Mysterang.

“Looks like Mysterion's got a little playmate now?” Yates nodded, examining a backpack filled with assorted drugs. “And judging from the looks of this babbling idiot, _this_ new meta's got some serious powers!”

*

In his own back yard, Pete Thelman was doing some very soulful vomiting.

When he was finished, he looked up at his abductors. “Oh, no...not you fuckin' Marvel-movie wannabe's!” He shook his head and retched again, dry-heaving. “What the _fuck_ was that? And how'd we get here?”

Chaos vomited, too.

“I hate it when you do that to us, you know!” Chaos complained.

Eclipse yawned.

“You're that kid who busted Davey at Christmas, and like, sucked his brains out? And got that fat kid busted!” Pete accused Eclipse. “What did you _do_ to me?”

“You were just stunned,” Eclipse replied, his mask disguising his voice.

Pete then seemed to realize that he was no longer at the truckstop parking lot.

“He teleported us, that's why you're puking,” Mysterion grumbled, jerking a thumb at Eclipse.

“Drugs, Pete? _Really_?” Toolshed then asked. “What would your friends say?”

“Who cares about those assholes?” Pete sighed. “Damn, this must be some trippy acid flashback!”

“It's no flashback,” Mysterion informed him.

“Why don't you posers mind your own business?” Pete asked, although it was clear that he really wasn't sure what was going on.

“You _are_ our business, Pete,” Toolshed told him, “Unless you'd rather end up as street-pizza?”

“What's _that_ supposed to mean?” Pete retorted.

“It means that after a few more hits of acid, _you_ end up dead!” Toolshed told him. He turned to Eclipse. “Show him!”

Eclipse sighed. Pete scooted backwards as Eclipse approached him, but Mysterion grabbed him and held him.

Eclipse stared at Pete, although all the Goth kid could see was the glowing mask.

 _Stan, I need a favor,_ Kyle's voice then echoed in Stan's head. Toolshed flinched, as this was something new for him.

 _Uh, OK?_   Stan thought back at Kyle.

_I need to access your alternate future memories to show Pete what's gonna happen to him._

_Uh, OK?_ Stan agreed, as a prickly feeling began to spread, seemingly inside his skull.

And then, Pete wasn't in his back yard anymore.

He was standing on top of the South Park water tower, and he was cold.

To say nothing of being naked.

“Woo hoo! Fuck, yeah!” Stan Marsh was laughing, clearly drunk, or high, or both.

“Why is he naked?” Pete asked, “And why the hell am _I_ naked?!”

“Because you're both drunk, and high,” Eclipse told him. “Don't look down!”

Pete looked down.

“This is...is...” Pete groped for a word.

“Stupid?” Eclipse offered.

“Euphoric!” Pete gasped, until he heard himself exclaiming, “Whoa, Dude! This is some hardcore shit!”

“Yeah, don't worry, they can't see or hear us,” Eclipse told him.

“Oh, the old 'Christmas Carol' trope, huh?” Pete scoffed, although he seemed intrigued by the good time that he and Stan were having in the vision.

“Looks like you two turn out to be best friends, huh?” Eclipse prompted him.

“Friends? What the _fuck_ are friends, anyway?” Pete scoffed. “I'll tell you what they are! They're just mutual tolerants who're using each other. And who the hell would wanna hang out with Stan Marsh?”

“Well, I can think of three or four right off the bat,” Eclipse answered, as Stan was hanging dangerously over the guard rail of the narrow service walkway.

“Aw, fuck, man! Shit! I almost dropped my bottle!” Stan exclaimed.

“Whoa, easy, man!” Pete gasped, grabbing Stan by the shoulders and pulling him back.

“Yeah, like anyone would miss _me_ ,” Stan scoffed.

“I bet that Kyle-kid, would,” Pete replied, “I think it's Kyle? The short redhead that's always trying to follow you around?”

“ _Fuck_ him,” Stan snorted, taking another long drink from the bottle. “I been listenin' to his (BURP!) know-it-all shit ever since I can remember! All this 'Stan, don't do this,' and 'Stan, don't do that! Stan, you're drinking too much!'” Stan took another long pull from the bottle.

And even though Eclipse knew that what he was pulling from Stan's mind was from an aborted future, that did nothing to lessen the hurt of his best friend's words. _I knew it got to the point where we weren't really friends anymore, and he probably wanted to tell me to just fuck off,_ Eclipse thought, _But he never did. Yet here he is, telling it all to some kid that he just hangs out with to get high!_

He remembered an episode of _**Star Trek: TNG**_ , 'Parallels', where Lt. Worf had passed through a fracture in space-time and ended up in other versions of his universe. Some had been so close to the same that, at first, Worf hadn't been able to tell the difference. And others had been so shockingly different, that even the normally unflappable Klingon had been on the verge of panic. In one, he had been married to Counselor Troi, and she'd been devastated to find the love of her husband now gone with the replacement Worf.

“I can't believe there's a Universe out there, where you never loved me,” she had said.

“I can't believe there's a Timeline up there, where you're not my best friend,” Eclipse muttered.

Eclipse then began to fully appreciate the daily hell that Kenny must have been enduring since his arrival (so Kenny had said) at the cafeteria table the school term before, and nearly choking on a grape.

 _I know it hurts,_ another Eclipse spoke up in his mind, _And even though he's not going to do or say any of this, now, Stan's going to have to live with this, too!_

It certainly didn't look like Stan in the vision was hurting, though. In fact, it was clear that he was feeling no pain at all as he and Pete lived it up.

Eclipse knew, however, that this was only a vision. A temporal memory of things to 'not' come, borrowed from Stan's temporally-split mind. He was, in fact, still standing in Pete Thelman's backyard, holding the Goth boy in place, while planting this vision in Pete's mind. And the last thing that Eclipse (that Kyle) wanted was to start getting all maudlin, maybe even bursting into tears, in front of them all.

And so he bit it back.

“These Dickensian interludes, when you're really in one, kinda suck!” Pete declared, snapping his 'abductor' out of his funk.

“What?”

“Look at 'em!” Pete sniffed, “They're having all the fun!” He narrowed his eyes at Eclipse. “You know, I heard what you supposedly did to Eric Cartman and Davey. So you're really some kind of telepathic metahuman?”

“With all the shit that happens in this town, is that so hard to believe?” Eclipse countered.

“Not really,” Pete shrugged, turning back to watch himself and Stan leaning dangerously over the rail of the tower. “So I'm gonna fall, huh? Or is that what you want me to see?”

“I didn't take you straight to the cops, did I?” Eclipse asked in reply.

“No, I guess not,” Pete admitted.

“You committed suicide, Pete, brought on by years of building depression, set off by your friends dumping you,” Eclipse told him, “And you know what else? You remember Korx?”

“The Gooback kid from the future? Yeah, what about him?”

Eclipse gestured at the visionary scene. “Aliens, Barbara Streisand, Goobacks, the politics, Mr. Hankey, Santa, Jesus, MRS. Garrison – what the hell ELSE do you need to see to believe it? It's fucking _South Park_ , for God's sake!”

“This _is_ kinda dull, by comparison,” Pete had to admit. “And Bradley Biggle being an alien from Krypton.”

“Kokujon. And how do YOU know about _him_?”

“Duh? Cult of Cthulhu?” Pete answered, “I was there? Whatever,” Pete sighed, “But why the hell would I be naked with Stan Marsh – Raven – up here?”

“There are things that even a semi-omnipotent metahuman doesn't want to know,” Eclipse replied, shuddering. _Yeah, but just WHY is Stan naked up here with Pete?_

 _I never asked, I don't wanna know,_ a chorus of Eclipses answered in his mind.

“Anyway, is this crazy shit about over?” Pete then asked, “Because I -”

“-wanna go get high?” Eclipse cut him off, as an idea came to him. After all, none of this was real. He focused on Pete.

“Holy shit, I'm naked!” Pete gasped, “Did you just put me in the shitshow we were watching?” He asked, of seemingly thin air.

“Dude! You're f-fuckin' halluciganetating!” Stan fumbled, snickering, and taking another long pull from the bottle.

“If I remember it right, they'll find Stan up here, passed out, and he'll spend a night in jail. Right after they get done mopping your splattered ass up off of the road!” Eclipse told (now) one and only Pete of the vision.

Stan had his arm around Pete's shoulders then, offering him the nearly empty bottle of Jameson Irish Whisky.

“Dude, what do you...get gay when you drink?” Pete demanded of Stan, which only made him laugh harder. Then Stan leaned over the rail and vomited.

“Ohhhhh, God,” Eclipse pinched the bridge of his nose through his soft mask.

“Did...did I ever tell you I kissed Kyle once?” Stan slurred it out.

“That's nice, Raven,” Pete replied, his vision-self's buzz seeming to have gone. Eclipse tried to put it back, but realized that he had no idea what a drunk acid trip felt like. So he reached further into Stan's mind in reality (such as it was) and borrowed that.

Then he put it back into Pete.

“Nooooo shiiiiit?” Pete slurred as well. “And like, you were all so … fucked up when that one bitch dumped you, that one time? 'Member?”

“Yeah, I 'member,” Stan agreed, sniffling.

_So, that's something that carried across both timelines, Stan kissing me?_

Pete blinked several times, as if trying to clear his head – and failing.

“So, whut...whuzzit like, kissin' a boy?” Pete wondered. Then he laughed. “Must'a not been _that_ good. Ya treat him like shit now!”

Eclipse winced. He imagined that in reality, if Stan were to know what he were borrowing from his mind, that Stan might do more than wince.

To Eclipse's surprise, Stan then leaned back on the tower tank's wall, slid down, drained the bottle, and threw it. A second later, he heard it shatter on the road below. Glass broke, too much, and a car alarm began blaring.

“It was nice,” Stan confessed, suddenly becoming fascinated by the shadow that his hand cast across his chest. A shadow cast from a security light.

The light was reddish-orange.

“Not unlike that Earth I saw,” Eclipse mumbled, but neither of them heard him. “The last Eclipse. Why would he...I...go hang out, alone, billions of years in the future? And on a dead, empty world?”

But as Eclipse looked closer at other two, he suddenly realized why his future self would do that. And even though that Eclipse might not (probably didn't even) exist any more, everything that that (those) future Kyle(s) had felt came rushing at him unexpectedly.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“You were a train wreck, Kyle,” Kenny had told him.

 _One of us committed suicide!_ Eclipse then realized.

 _Yes,_ one solitary voice answered, although there was a feeling with it – as if a large crowd had just gasped and taken a step back.

Stan's and Pete's eyes were empty.

Eclipse thought of fogged-up windows.

But as he remembered that dead future Earth, he recalled how clear everything had been. The monstrous sun in the sky, the flares, the jagged edges of the rockfaces.

“Because there was no blue light,” He whispered to himself.

Stan's eyes didn't even look blue.

They just looked empty.

Dead.

 _Stan is fine, and standing in Pete's back yard, dressed up as Toolshed!_ He reminded himself harshly, sniffling, as another vision of his own hit him.

Stan and Pete were talking, but Eclipse didn't hear them. He was standing on the bank of Stark's Pond, watching another Kyle and another Stan.

_**Stan had been drinking. A lot. He'd just gotten done throwing up when Kyle had arrived at Stark's Pond, at the dock, as Stan had called him. He'd been babbling incoherently, and it had taken Kyle several minutes to figure out where he was. Stan and Wendy had had another argument, and Stan hadn't taken it well. He was too drunk to even stand up when Kyle had arrived, and the vomiting had been spectacular.** _

“ _ **Stan, it's cold out here,” Kyle suddenly remembered telling him, “C'mon, we gotta get you home.”**_

_**Stan had slurred some kind of reply at him, and then just rolled over on the dock. Kyle remembered fearing that Stan would roll off into the freezing water, or at the very least, pass out remembered fearing that Stan would roll off into the freezing water, or at the very least, pass out on the dock and freeze to death.** _

_**Kyle remembered the dream of the cemetery. He saw, in his mind, Stan's dead body in the gardener's shed.** _

“ _ **Stan? STAN?” Kyle remembered yelling at him, trying to drag Stan to his feet, but Stan was simply too heavy. In his condition, he was no help at all, and only dead weight.**_

_**Kyle had called 911.** _

_**At the hospital, Stan had just been admitted to the ER when he'd begun to show symptoms of alcohol poisoning. He'd been cold and clammy, his lips already blue, and after throwing up, he's pissed himself as Kyle was trying to drag him off the dock. He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness. In the ER, he'd had a seizure, and ended up admitted. Kyle remembered Randy and Sharon having had enough, and Stan spending some time in rehab. The memories continued to hit Kyle hard and fast. He remembered Stan refusing to see him. He remembered coming to see Stan anyway. He remembered sitting outside Stan's door, waiting. He remembered the shouting match in which he'd finally broken down in tears, reminding Stan that he'd almost died.** _

_**Reminding him that he would have died, if Kyle hadn't found him.** _

Eclipse was having a vision of a former vision.

But then the scene shifted, and they were kissing out on the doorstep. Kyle had never kissed a boy before.

And he was feeling nothing that he'd expected.

Nothing erotic.

Only what he had later learned was agape.

“He didn't feel _anything_!” Stan was wailing, “He said he didn't feel...”

“He didn't understand it, then, that time through,” Eclipse realized, with some degree of horror, that his kiss had very likely been the catalyst that had set off those other timelines in which Stan hated him.

“I...I don't care if _you're_ gay,” Pete slurred, snickering a little, and jerkily getting to his feet. It seemed that the full effect of the acid (or, at least what Stan recalled of the feeling) was now fully taking him over.

“I'm _not_ gay!” Stan protested. Then he got distracted again, by his own foot, which didn't want to stay put on the rough walkway and help him get up. “I could be bi? Be-bi!” He ran the words together, which was hilarious for some reason.

Pete was laughing now, his focus shifting between the security lights and the moon, then to passing cars below. “I see vapor trails!” he gasped, turning to Stan. “Do you? Dude, just go make up with your boyfriend, OK? He's a lot nicer than those other douches you hang out with, or those asshole _friends_ ,” he spat the word, “of mine!”

“He's not my boy-f-friend, dickhead!” Stan retorted, finally getting his feet under his and giving Pete a shove. It knocked him up against the guard rail.

“Dude, I can't fuckin' fly!” Pete gasped, still smiling stupidly, but spreading his arms. “Or maybe I can? Just fly away? You know? Like that stupid old song, 'close my eyes an' I'll just fly away'?”

“Kyle's not a douche,” Stan mumbled, stepping up to Pete.

And then it happened.

Stan's big toe caught one of the uprights of the low guard fence, and he stumbled. Unable to catch himself, he fell into Pete.

“Watch it, dumbass!” Pete yelped, but still laughing maniacally, his arms windmilling, as he flipped backwards over the rail.

Pete fell.

Stan said nothing. He just stood, staring.

His eyes were still dead.

THUD!

Stan's jaw dropped, and he stumbled back to again slide down the tank wall to sit on the rough flooring. His jaw worked, but no sound came out.

Then those dead eyes simply closed, slowly, and Stan fell over, unconscious.

Pete was screaming as Eclipse broke the link. He pulled his gloved hands back, shoving, and the force knocked Pete on his ass. Eclipse spun around, his cape billowing on a sudden wind, to stare at Toolshed, Mysterion, and Chaos.

“That didn't take long?” Mysterion observed.

“Yeah, you OK, K-...Eclipse?” Chaos asked.

But Eclipse didn't answer. Not immediately.

 _He killed him! Stan killed Pete!_ Eclipse realized, _And whether he does it or not, now, that memory is still with him_!

“You OK?” Eclipse whispered in Toolshed's ear.

Whether it was the effect of downloading the memory of what an acid trip felt like, Eclipse wasn't sure. He was suddenly fascinated by Stan's face, and how symmetrical it was. Even behind the yellow shield covering his face, Stan's eyes were so blue, although the yellow should have rendered them gray. His hair was so black. Eclipse was fascinated by how perfect that small, round ear was.

_Elves have pointy ears. We'll have to make some, or see if the costume store has any. You can't be the High Jew Elf with round ears!  
Maybe those Star Trek guys have some we can use?_

“I'm fine, Dude? But you sound like you're … tripping, or something?”

“You should know,” Mysterion growled.

“Dude! I've never dropped acid!” Toolshed countered.

“Yet,” Chaos added, “But you will. Might?”

“You still remember it, from that other future,” Mysterion realized. “Sucks, doesn't it?”

“I...I hadn't thought about it?” Toolshed admitted, “Holy shit! What if we've got a super-meta on an acid trip?!”

“I'm OK,” Eclipse lied, because he certainly wasn't. He suddenly pulled Toolshed into a hug.

“FUCK! I'm alive!” Pete gasped, touching himself all over.

“Not now, Goth-boy,” Chaos warned him, as they all looked at Toolshed and Eclipse.

At Stan and Kyle.

Behind his mask of an eclipsing sun, Kyle was sniffling. Stan could feel the wetness on the mask.

“Kyle,” Stan whispered, so that Pete wouldn't hear the name, “What's wrong? What did you see?”

“I...I didn't m-mean to,” Eclipse choked on the words. “I saw...I s-saw-”

“I can only imagine what you dragged up outta this sewer of a mind I got!” Toolshed patted his back.

“The fuck did you do to my head?!” Pete demanded. “And _why_?”

“Congratulations, you're not dead anymore!” Chaos told him bluntly, fingering his hammer. Pete's eyes went wide.

“Go inside, and go to bed,” Mysterion ordered Pete, “And the next time you get in the mood to have some'a that good shit – DON'T!”

“We'll be watching!” Chaos agreed.

But as Eclipse turned to face Pete again, understanding seemed to come over the Goth boy's face.

“Y-you're like that Korx kid! You're from the fucking future, aren't you?” Pete gasped, looking as if he were starting to panic. “All that shit you showed me is really gonna happen!”

“Yes,” Eclipse said flatly, using more of his abilities than he'd care to admit, to just keep control of himself. “You have NO fucking clue what this just cost me, saving your sorry ass, you little shit! So drop this 'poor me' act, and 'life sucks', and get with it!” He held up his hand again. “Or maybe you'd like me to just erase it all?” Eclipse added angrily.

“You are _not_ pulling another Cartman here!” Mysterion warned him.

“Dude, please don't!” Toolshed agreed, fully aware that something was very wrong with his friend.

“Mysterion, your mom's home. She's looking for you!” Keith's voice came over their comms.

Eclipse's hand trembled, but he lowered it slightly. “Go inside, go to bed, and don't ever think about drugs again!” He ordered Pete, whose eyes glazed a bit.

“OK, yeah, I'm tired,” Pete yawned. “See you guys later!”

He then let himself in, leaving them all standing in the back yard.

Kyle's hand then dropped, slapping his leg, as he exhaled hard, collapsing into Stan's arms.

“So much for our ride home?” Chaos pointed out.

“What the hell did he just do?” Mysterion asked.

“How the fuck should I know?” Toolshed replied, pulling Eclipse's arm across his shoulder. “Shit! He doesn't weigh hardly anything!”

“Insulin?” Chaos wondered, yanking up the black shirt and popping the piece of armor. It took a moment. “What the hell does he make this shit out of? Is it even real?”

“Wha's it say?” Toolshed asked.

“48. Tha's too low,” Chaos recalled, finding some syrup in a small bottle in Eclipse's utility belt and squirting it into his mouth. “The alarm on his pump's turned off, too!”

“Shit! He's like **Q** from _**Star Trek**_ , and he can't fix his own diabetes?” Mysterion wondered.

“You got that thing under control?” Toolshed asked.

“Yeah,” Chaos answered, “Scott showed me how his works, just in case.”

“Fuck, I'm glad Cartman isn't here,” Toolshed sighed, lifting his friend up and holding him to his chest. “Guess all that construction work finally paid off?”

“And lack of you drinking,” Mysterion added darkly. “Let's go! Before I get busted! We can cut across there, but it'll still take a good half hour to hit the tracks!”

“You're busted,” Chaos pointed out, as they set off for Kenny's house.

*

“They just ran down to the convenience store for some drinks,” Keith was telling Mrs. McCormick.

“Well, I guess it's OK, it's the weekend,” Carol replied, looking around at the renovated house. “So, I guess it gets old, Hun, people askin' you stuff? But do you really like it here, better?”

“Oh, yes ma'am!” Keith agreed, stalling her for time, as he told her all about it.

Some time later, and the front door opened.

“So it must'a been like -” Chaos was saying, maybe too loudly, and having completely forgotten to change his outfit.

Carol McCormick took one look at Professor Chaos standing in her doorway, screamed, and fainted.

“Oh, good job, Buttpipe!” Keith snorted.

“I think he's finally starting to get the hang of the insult thing?” Mysterion smiled, as Toolshed took Eclipse below, before either Kevin or Karen could wake up and see them.

As the lift arrived in the basement room, Mysterion's Lair, Stan immediately saw Kyle standing by the spare bed. He'd turned it down, and the heat was up.

“He'll be fine. Just put him to bed,” Kyle ordered.

“I just hate it when you do this, you know,” Stan told him. “Which one are _you_?” He waited. Kyle didn't answer. “Never mind, then!” he added, as Eclipse's uniform pixelated and vanished.

For just a moment, Stan studied Kyle's naked agender form, perfect in every way, and only marred by the insulin pump and its flashing light.

72.

The other Kyle adjusted the pump, checked the insulin cartridge, set a limit of 120, and then original-Kyle was suddenly dressed in a warm, red one-piece pyjama set - with feet.

Stan tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and ran a hand over Kyle's grown-out slight curls.

But when he turned back, that other Kyle was already gone.

“Dammit!” Stan snorted, just sitting on the edge of the bed and holding Kyle's hand.

That was where Kenny and Butters and Keith found him when they came down.

“Let's go back up,” Kenny told Butters, and they did.

Keith came to stand by Stan. For a while, they said nothing.

“He loves you, you know,” Keith finally told Stan.

Stan nodded slightly.

“You know what he was pulling outta your head?” Keith asked.

Again, Stan nodded. He started to cry.

“You didn't do it – yet – Stan, and now you _won't_ do it,” Keith assured him.

“B-but why me? Why'd he do this t-to _me_?” Stan demanded, never letting go of Kyle's hand. “How can I remember shit that I'll never even do?”

“He needs you, Stan,” Keith replied. “And he'll need you more, since Tweek and Craig need you.”

“He...he's g-gonna d-die!” Stan whimpered, finally letting go of Kyle's hand and taking Keith's offered one.

Keith put Kyle's hand back in Stan's.

“There's no greater love than this,” Keith reminded Stan, who finally got some control and faced them.

“Thought he loved you?” Stan asked.

Keith sighed. “Drones can't-”

“Liar,” Stan sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I see the way he looks at you.” Stan hesitated. “I'm glad. He thought...he'd never feel-”

“I know,” Keith interrupted, pulling that hand back from theirs. “Like I said, he needs you, Stan. I'm just a transient thing, you know. For all I know, I'll be gone in a few years. And he'll still need you. He'll _always_ need you.”

Keith turned to go back up to Kenny's room, but took the emergency exit instead.

“Where you goin'?” Stan asked. “Home?”

“Such as it is, for now,” Keith nodded, pulling on his yellow jacket and blue poofball hat. “You should be here when he wakes up. Not me.”

“Hope he'll still be my friend, when he wakes up,” Stan fretted.

“To the end,” Keith nodded again.

Keith left Stan sitting on the edge of Kyle's bed.

And that was where Stan Marsh would yet be, come morning.

*

Notes:

The largest pipe organ ever built, based on number of pipes, is the Boardwalk Hall Auditorium Organ in Atlantic City, New Jersey, built by the Midmer-Losh Organ Company between 1929 and 1932. The organ contains seven manuals, 449 ranks, 337 registers, and 33,114 pipes. It weighs approximately 150 tons.

Posi rear end in a car causes both back wheels to turn all the time. Airplane gears refer to a high ratio, limiting takeoff speed/power, but making the car go faster than stock parts can, while turning less RPM's to do it.

 **Whiskey** is only spelled with the “-ey” ending when referring to American products. Jameson Irish Whisky would have no “e”. The things you learn researching for fanfics!

Excerpt: Chapter 19, “BLUE”.

 


	35. Gloria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig Tucker begins to have memories of the future while pondering his meteorite. Tweek goes to practice his score for Trent's new album at Father Maxi's church. Stan helps Craig work on Red Racer, but an unlikely event suddenly causes radical changes to the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, there are some hints of some underage hanky-panky taking place, but no descriptions. See also a few end notes in the chapter body.
> 
> "Gloria" is not a new character; it's the title score that Tweek rewrites.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**35**

**Gloria  
** (full version)

 ***  
**_Dig for victory_  
_Go for gold_  
 _I don't wanna die_  
 _Before I get old_  
Asia, “Go”, ©1985 Geffen **  
***

Craig Tucker awoke that Saturday morning with the images of a strange dream still lingering in his head. Normally, the stoic boy didn't dwell too much upon dreams. He thought they were mostly stupid, a normal biological function, and didn't often remember them for that matter. That morning was different, though.

In his dream, Craig had been (naturally) working on Red Racer. But every time he turned around from fetching a different tool, more of the work on the car had been completed. It seem that by the time he'd bolted the rebuilt engine into place, the Corvette had somehow magically restored itself to its original condition. This was, of course, what Craig intended to do. At first. The radical modifications he'd planned on were to come later, when he had more money. Later, that was, if he didn't sell the car. After all, a fully restored 1977 model was sort of a rare thing. Craig was really having second thoughts about modifying his pride and joy too heavily.

And Kenny had been in the dream.

While they'd never been that close, Craig had never had any problems with Kenny, either. Sure, he was “one of _those_ guys,” as he referred to Cartman, Kyle, Stan, and Kenny. And where those four went (sometimes with Butters), trouble often followed. In fact, he still hadn't forgiven them for getting him dragged, first to Miami Florida to an internment camp, and then on to the remote jungles of Peru.

Never mind the hell that they'd put Tweek through when he'd been the fourth friend.

Then, of course, he'd found that he was an important figure in ancient Native prophecies, battled a giant Guinea Pirate, and then stunned it with blue lasers that shot from his eyes.

Craig preferred to not think about that, though. It made no sense. And things that made no sense to Craig were best ignored.

Such was the case with dreaming about Kenny.

But Kenny had been helping him rebuild the car, and it had seemed perfectly natural. As he rubbed his eyes, Craig recalled having invited Kenny and his friends to stay and play video games the night before, having not realized how late it had been. And while his younger Sister, Tricia, often had Kenny's younger sister, Karen, come over, Craig wouldn't have said that he and Kenny were exactly friends. They were civil, and Kenny sometimes stopped by for a bike repair and brought takeout from City Wok. That, however, was the height of their relationship.

“Then why do I remember Kenny spending the night here, when his piece-of-shit parents were fighting? I think I fixed his bike, when it broke coming home from work?” Craig mumbled to himself, carefully extricating himself from the bed, so as not to wake Tweek. As usual, he sat at his desk, petting Stripe, lost in his own thoughts. He watched Tweek sleeping, realizing that when Tweek spent the night (which was becoming more and more frequent), he himself tended to wake up earlier. And while Tweek wasn't nearly so jumpy and nervous as he'd seemingly always been, Craig knew that Tweek was not in the best of health.

He decided not to think about it, as he knew that he would only get worked up if he did. Normally in control of his emotions, letting his mind linger on Richard Tweak (the big dick) was one sure-fire way for Craig to lose control of those emotions. And he didn't want Tweek to see that.

Oh, sure, he'd yelled at him once at the amusement park in Denver, but that had been nothing.

Tweek had never really seen Craig go off.

Clyde and Token had seen it, though.

In fact, it had been those two of his friends that had once had to restrain Craig, when Tweek had first been diagnosed with a meth addiction. Had it not been for Clyde and Token holding him back until his father, Thomas, could get control of him, Craig was certain that he'd have hunted Tweek's dad down and murdered him.

When he'd gotten the news, Craig Tucker had exploded.

And his friends, the bearers of bad news, had tried to intervene before Craig could hurt himself.

One destroyed garage later, with Token having a split lip, and Clyde having a black eye, it had been a painful kidney-punch from Token, and a palm-strike to the solar plexus from Clyde, that had finally brought Craig back to his senses. Craig remembered having pissed blood for two days, and the chest pain had lingered for a week or more.

They'd never seen Craig lose control like that.

They'd never seen Craig cry, either.

Both were scenes that Clyde and Token decided that they didn't like, and hoped to never see again.

As he sat there petting Stripe, Craig removed the lead-lined cloth that covered his other pride and joy: the meteorite that Tweek had given him for Christmas. Why Keith had insisted that he keep it covered with the special cloth, and out of the light, Craig wasn't sure. He might have been a space nerd, but geology wasn't his thing. Still, it was a meteorite from the year 3000 or so, and Craig treasured it. More so, that it had come from Tweek.

Lately, though, Craig was finding that staring at the beautiful chunk of blue crystals and other minerals was becoming unsettling. He knew that if he stared at it for too long, he'd start to think about things that he was sure had happened, but couldn't have. That was mainly because in those memories, everyone was older.

He would remember things like Red Racer being restored.  
He'd just installed the stereo, and his dad had come out in the middle of the night, in his pyjamas, to teach Craig how to drive a stick-shift. It had been the first test-start of the car, and Thomas Tucker had been so proud of his son.  
They'd gone to Tweek's house, knowing he'd be up, to show him.  
The stereo had been playing “Hold My Hand” when they'd both finally fallen asleep in the front seat.  
Mysterion was beating up some fag-bashers up at Stark's Pond, as Craig remembered 'going parking' there with Tweek.  
Cartman had cut his tires.  
Mysterion had beaten the crap out of Cartman for it, too.  
He remembered drag racing Scott Malkinson's restored '86 Mustang GT.  
“C'mon, Butters! Open up that Chevy 327 and she what she's got!”  
“Clyde, it's a 2.3 litre. It's not a race-truck.”  
“Really, Token? A Lexus?”  
The seats in Red Racer were embroidered with a rainbow-themed C on the driver's seat, and a T on the passenger's.  
“Craig Tucker, C.T.?”  
“Craig & Tweek!”  
He had put a bumper sticker on the car, which he'd sworn never to do. It was a line of guinea pigs, in all the colors of the rainbow.  
“Clyde, are you ever gonna learn how to drive that stick-shift?”

But Craig also remembered other things.

Disturbing things.

He remembered Tweek having a heart attack.  
He remembered beating up an EMT and a doctor, before they'd locked him up in the psych ward.  
Clyde had gotten sick again. But Craig had never known that Clyde had been ill as a child.  
Jimmy had lost a leg to a botched surgery to repair his femoral artery.  
Timmy had died of complications from brain surgery.  
Clyde had lost all his hair to chemo.  
Rumor was that Cartman, Kyle, Stan, or Kenny had killed Trent Boyette, upon his second release from juvie. No one was sure who'd done it, but Trent had disappeared.

And Craig Tucker remembered the truck out on 285, the sound of tearing metal, and the sound of Tweek's scream.

He remembered riding in the white pickup with Clyde. Bald Clyde.  
Craig couldn't drive anymore.  
Something had happened to him.

Then, as he stared down at Stripe, he thought he saw a flash of blue light out of the corner of his eye. Craig felt a chill.

Why was he getting angry again?

He glanced over at sleeping Tweek, thinking about Richard Tweak, who was in prison. Or was he dead?

 _What the fuck?_ Craig thought, _Am I losing my mind? Which_ is _it?!_

And he somehow remembered, disturbingly, that Kenny McCormick was somehow at the core of these memories.

While he knew that it was impossible to remember things that had not yet happened, mainly because the memories all seemed to be set in the future, logical Craig Tucker simply dismissed them as daydreams. Perhaps fragments of normal dreams, maybe even nightmares. Yet he'd not had nightmares in years. Not since he'd been little.

And never had they been so vivid.

Still, he was certain that he'd never set fire to Mr. Tweak's garage, as much as he still wanted to. He was also fairly certain that he'd never beaten the hell out of the man, nearly killing him, while dressed up in Kenny's Mysterion costume.

There it was again: Kenny.

Craig sighed and covered the meteorite, putting it away. He gave Stripe one last pet, then put the guinea pig back in his house.

 _Dick's in prison, I'm sure of it!_ Craig assured himself.

Arriving in the bathroom to brush that morning-taste out of his mouth, Craig paused to look at the row of medications that Tweek always brought with him: heart meds, water pills, tranquilizers, blood pressure meds, sleeping pills, and specially formulated vitamins. He felt his temper rising again, and shoved it back down. He thought of a list of parts and procedures for Red Racer's rear end rebuild, which he planned to do that day. Perhaps Stan Marsh would be over to help, as he'd said he would. Craig didn't care if he came or not, though.

“Then why'd you ask him?” Craig asked himself, as he stripped out of his pyjamas. He checked the temperature on the indoor/outdoor thermometer, and decided that it was just right for the coveralls. There was finally a fall chill in the air, he'd noticed. In fact, it was odd that it hadn't snowed yet.

Having exiled him from the garage, Craig left Tweek sleeping. One of the effects of his meds was drowsiness, and while Tweek hated taking it, Craig encouraged him to do so. He'd never admit it to anyone, but Craig found that watching Tweek sleep was the best way to calm his own bottled up emotions, when they were threatening to explode.

It was early, Craig realized, and the dim morning light looked as if the day would be overcast. Still, there was a reddish tint to it. For some reason, it reminded Craig of something from Science Class – how that, in a few billion years, the sun would evolve into a red giant, eventually devouring the inner planets. Some theorized that this enlarged star might even turn some of Jupiter's moons into M-class dwarf planets.

“Looks nice out,” Craig told himself, adjusting the blanket so that Tweek didn't cover his head and suffocate. Tweek whimpered. “Go back to sleep, Babe,” Craig whispered.

“Time … it?” Tweek mumbled.

“Too early,” Craig replied softly.

On his way out, Craig noticed a sheet of paper that had fallen from the printer tray onto the floor. He stopped to pick it up, seeing that it was a track listing for Trent's new album. There were download links for Tweek to print the sheet music, and it reminded Craig that Tweek had made arrangements with Father Maxi to use the Catholic church's organ to learn the pieces before the Jersey trip. He wondered how the priest would react to having a Buddhist ex-Catholic practicing on the church organ?

Craig smiled.

The list read:  
**For the Beauty of the Earth  
O For the Wings of a Dove  
Adoramus  
Be Still for the Presence of the Lord  
Jerusalem  
Pie Jesu  
Panis Angelicus  
Air on a G String (Bach) – which made Craig snicker  
Tallis' Canon (Libera)  
In Paradisum (Tweek remix)  
Amazing Grace  
Gaudete (Canticum Novum, Libera, extended)  
Gloria (organ symphony, Violent Remix)**

The only song that Craig recognized was “Amazing Grace.” After all, classical or religious music wasn't his thing. Well, unless Tweek were performing it. Craig also wondered just how someone could remix something like “Gloria” into something violent? He figured that if anyone could, though, it would be Tweek. After all, the boy was a genius on the keyboard.

Craig sighed again. It sort of made him wish that he'd studied violin harder. Maybe then, he'd be playing with Tweek in laying down the string tracks for Trent's album.

“The hell am I thinking?” Craig surprised himself, remembering just how much he'd hated the violin lessons and school band.

And how much he'd sucked at it!

The next memory hit him so hard and fast that he gasped, dropping to his knees and suddenly short of breath.

He and Tweek were performing at school. It wasn't “Put It Down,” either. No, there weren't any other students in the choir accompanying them. It was only Tweek and himself, with Tweek on a very expensive electronic keyboard, and Craig with a violin. For the life of him, Craig thought that he could hear the piece being played. He was familiar with it, but the name eluded him.

Still, the two of them played. It was a long piece, and when they finally finished, the crowd was silent. Craig looked out over the shocked faces, searching for familiar ones to gauge a reaction. God, had he sucked _that_ hard?! Not even a 'boo'?

PC Principal's jaw hung open, his sunglasses having slid down his nose to reveal wide eyes. Big Gay Al was in tears. Craig's friends sat, stunned. Several of the girls, and a few of the boys, had also been reduced to tears.

Craig focused on the empty seats adjacent his friends.

Then one single verse, sung in an ethereal voice, came back to him. It was sung in Latin. How Craig knew this, he didn't know.

All that he knew was that it was overpowering, the last word “Gloria” held in such a high pitch, and for so long, modulated beyond what Craig thought humanly possible.

Gloria in excelsis Deo  
Et in terra pax hominibus  
Benedictimus te, laudamus  
Adoramus te, Gloria*

And then the crowd had begun to applaud. It turned into a standing ovation, which went on and on to the point of being embarrassing.

As he turned, Craig Tucker realized that the voice he'd heard had come from Tweek.

Oddly enough, he'd expected to turn and see Trent Boyette.

 _How?! Trent's in juvie until he's 14 or 18? I forget! No, he's not! He set a fire in nursery school, crippling Miss Claridge. No, he hadn't. Kyle had stopped him, by kicking him in the balls. In fact, that kick had caused Trent to_ lose _his balls, hadn't it? No fire, no juvie, and Trent wasn't a mean kid. But, yes he was. No, he wasn't. Trent was a famous singer/composer._

But no.

The singer was Tweek.

Craig shook his head, dropping the paper and scooting backwards as if he'd just confronted a venomous snake.

Gasping for breath, he scanned the room, searching for something upon which to focus, to clear his confusion. He pulled the zipper on the front of his coveralls, suddenly hot. “Heavy duty Rotella gear lube, replace the spider gears, reinforce the welds!” he told himself. “Higher gears, less low end, but amazing top end! 150 should be a walk in the park for her!”

Craig calmed down.

Someone was pounding on the front door.

“Craig, your friend Stanley is here!” Laura Tucker called up the stairs to him.

“Stan? Yeah, right. He said he'd come...” Craig mumbled, taking one last look at Tweek as he eased out of the room so as not to wake him.

_Fucking get a hold of yourself, Craig!_

“Dude, you look like shit?” Stan observed.

“Morning to you too, Buttpipe!” Craig countered with a sneer. “You should talk!”

“No, really, Craig! You look sick?” Stan repeated. “Rough night?”

“Weird dreams, an' shit,” Craig admitted, looking Stan up and down. “You been out playing superhero again?” Craig snickered.

“We, uh, had a job to do,” Stan nodded.

“That's so lame! You're gonna get arrested, or killed,” Craig informed him, “You won't catch me and Tweek doing that shit no more!”

“You filled in for Mysterion a few nights, when Kenny broke his leg?” Stan countered.

“Yeah, well,” Craig snorted. _I did, didn't I? That_ was _kinda fun..._

They headed for the garage.

“Wow, it's a skeleton!” Stan observed of the car, “I dunno how you're gonna have it done by your 14th birthday?”

“Who said anything about that?” Craig asked, confused, as Stan picked up a yellow HEI super high output coil pack from the workbench.

“Kenny gave me that,” Craig began, “Along with that road-hog wreck of a Chevy wagon,” they both said in unison, blinking at one another.

“For the power brake vacuum system?” Stan asked.

“How'd you know? I never told anyone that?” Craig asked in reply.

Stan shrugged, realizing that what he remembered was probably not what Craig remembered. After all, they'd long since determined that Craig's mind wasn't capable of handling four-dimensional memory.

“Seriously, though, Craig? Something wrong with Tweek?” Stan reminded him, beginning to wonder.

“No. Yes,” Craig fudged. “He's nervous about this trip to Jersey, the organ thing. He's supposed to practice at Father Maxi's church today.”

Stan put the coil pack down. They began organizing the new and old parts for the rear end of the 'Vette. For a while, they didn't speak.

“I get this weird vibe off'a Kenny lately,” Craig then offered, seemingly for no reason.

“What?”

“I have, ever since his leg got better, and we rebuilt that bike together,” Craig mused. “It was like, I knew how it was gonna turn out, before we were done?”

“I see,” Stan agreed, having a feeling that he knew where this conversation was headed. “Well, at least you're not having nightmares, keeping you up, and-”

Craig gave Stan a look that shut him up at once.

“You _are_ , aren't you?” Stan had to ask. “That's why you look so beat?”

“I...I think dreams are stupid,” Craig said, his voice nasal and flat as usual; if not an octave lower than Stan thought it should have been. After an awkward pause, Craig added, “No, it's daydreams. Almost like memories.”

“Future memories?” Stan pressed him carefully, watching the color drain from Craig's face. He dropped a gear on his foot and yelped.

“What the...?” Craig fumbled.

“You're not the only one, so, no, you're not going crazy,” Stan told him. “It's a side effect from Keith showing up,” he lied smoothly. “Kyle's still not up, either. He kinda had a rough night, too.”

“So, Future-Boy comes back, and we get crazy dreams from _him_?” Craig wondered, seeming to not quite get it.

“ _Them_. Korx – well, Keith – isn't a boy, remember?” Stan reminded him.

“Is that where Kyle got his agender idea from?” Craig asked, finally making some progress on the gearing system. “And why I feel like my dreams are making me nuts?”

“I think so,” Stan sighed, with a bit of a shudder. _Dude, you have NO idea!_ He thought.

“Let's get the mains in for the shaft hookup,” Craig decided, “I wanna have that done before we have to take Tweek to the church. He wants a couple hours practice in before lunch.” He paused. “We should take the driveshaft to the machine shop and have it balanced,” Craig added.

“What about your dreams?” Stan reminded him.

Craig shrugged. “You just explained it. Keith did it. It's OK now. I'm not nuts,” Craig dismissed it all with a wave of his greasy hand.

“You talk to Trent much?” Stan asked, as they began reassembling the mains. Why he'd thought of Trent, he had no idea.

“No,” Craig answered quickly. “Not like I care what a bunch of choirboys in England are doing.”

“Pip?”

“Pip?” Craig looked up, shocked. “Pip's dead?” He paused. “No, he isn't – _is_ he?”

“Uhm, no?” Stan reminded him. “Then again, Pip was one of those people that you had a hard time remembering if he was there or not.” _Way to cover it, Stan!_

“No, that was Butters. Or Mark Cottswolds,” Craig replied, with a smirk. “What a dork! Whatever happened to him?”

“Moved, way before New Kid did,” Stan replied, as they got the shaft mounts where they wanted them.

They were just getting the 'guts' of the rear axle put back together, and getting ready to close her up when Tweek walked in.

“You're almost outta printer ink, Cupcake,” Tweek greeted him, before he noticed Stan.

“Hand me that seven-eighths, would you, _Cupcake_?” Stan laughed.

Craig glared at him. “Don't you _ever_!”

“Oh, hey, Stan!” Tweek greeted him, blushing a bit.

“Fuck you!” Craig smirked at Stan again.

“Oh, God, Craig! You're filthy already!” Tweek pointed out. “And breakfast is ready.”

“C'mon, we can finish this later. Not like it's goin' anywhere,” Craig said, as they turned to go.

But when Craig looked back, for just a second, he saw a completed car. The new paint was shining candy apple red, and the raised hood revealed a perfectly clean and trimmed engine.

And then it was just the skeleton of the car again.

“Not hard to imagine what it's gonna look like, huh?” Stan asked, as they exited. The problem, and Stan didn't mention it, was that he'd seen it, too.

“I must be getting worked up,” Craig guessed, “'cause I keep seeing her all done.”

“I _seeeee_?” Stan agreed, as they went in to eat.

“Slave labor?” Thomas joked, as he joined them. He sipped his coffee, disappearing behind a newspaper.

“Dad's so much more laid back since Craig came out, you know,” Tricia informed Stan, which nearly made Stan choke.

Thomas reached a hand around the edge of the paper and flipped her off.

“You too, Dad,” Tricia returned the favor.

“ _That's_ my girl!” Thomas smiled over the paper.

When breakfast was finished, after a bit more embarrassing conversation, Thomas delivered the boys to the church. Stan was fascinated by the way the man interacted with them, and not just barking orders at them.

“You two going to stay for a bit?” Thomas asked Craig and Stan.

“Please don't,” Tweek answered for them. “This is hard enough, this new stuff, without having to practice in front of you guys!”

“No problem, Babe,” Craig replied. “Pick you up for lunch?”

“I'll call. Thanks,” Tweek replied, as he headed into the church.

“I bet it sounds awesome in there, without all the people?” Stan wondered. “I think Mrs. Jones hits more clinkers than good notes.”

“That organ hasn't had the stops all pulled out in years,” Thomas told them, as they drove off. “That means it hasn't been run hard.”

“Like goin' full bore?” Stan asked, which got a snort from Thomas.

“DAD!” Craig gasped.

Stan felt himself blushing. Always before, they'd all been intimidated by Thomas Tucker. Never mind that he was so big. But Craig's dad was really cool – unlike Stan's idiot father.

“So, are Kyle and Keith a thing now?” Craig then asked.

“I think so,” Stan nodded.

“Thought _you_ two might be, since you and Wendy cooled it, and Cartman posted all those pics of you and Kyle online,” Craig reminded him.

“The boy from the future?” Thomas asked, “How is he?”

“They're fine, sir,” Stan answered.

“Oh, that's right! He's – they're – not a boy, are they? This is so confusing! I can only imagine how many gender identities there might be in a thousand more years,” Thomas admitted. “And that boy with the bike? Kenneth, is it? How is he? I mean, since his old man got sent up the river?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. ' _Old man sent up the river'?_

“Fine, sir. Late night at City Wok, I think,” Stan fudged a bit.

“Tragic, that family. We see a lot of Karen lately, you know, with Carol working so much,” Thomas went on. “I never would have pegged Kenneth for being gay, though?”

“DAD!” Craig exclaimed again, and Stan thought he'd never seen Craig blush.

“Actually, I think it just has to have a heartbeat for Kenny to be OK with it,” Stan popped off, which made Thomas laugh so hard that he nearly ran off the road.

“Let's just go back and finish that r- …axle!” Craig decided not to say “rear end” at the last second. “Maybe we can get it back... _re_ installed?”

“Need a hand?” Thomas asked.

“Shaft needs balanced,” Craig reminded them.

“Nothing worse than a wobbly shaft,” Thomas agreed.

“DAD!”

While Thomas and the boys headed back home to work on the car, Tweek quietly made his way through the sanctuary towards the pipe organ. The doors were unlocked, as Father Maxi had been expecting him. Tweek was relieved when he didn't see the priest anywhere, feeling a bit of anxiety about having since ditched Catholicism in favor of being a Buddhist.

The organ was tiny in comparison to the videos he'd seen of the one in New Jersey, the largest one in the world, but it was still an impressive instrument. It far dwarfed Tweek's keyboard, and the antique player piano at _Whistlin' Willie's_.

As he sat down on the padded bench, Tweek made some adjustments. He played a few notes from an old 80's song he liked, from Craig's playlist. He made a few more adjustments. He pulled out a few more of the stops. He played the first three long notes. He checked the pedals.

“Needs more power,” Tweek mumbled, pulling a few more stops, and playing the first notes again. “It'll have to do,” Tweek grumbled, as he realized something: the organ in Jersey wasn't functional. It wouldn't be until 2023. “Then how can I be scheduled to play it?” Tweek began to wonder. “It should have been done in 1998?”

“Screw it,” Tweek then decided, pulling out all the stops as the lyrics to the song filled his mind. It was heavy on keyboards, long notes, and suitably violent for the remix that he'd penned for Trent's secret pet project.

_Dig for victory, go for gold, I don't wanna die before I get old! And I wonder where I'm goin' to, there's some way out, there's some way through! But I'm lost, I'm lost, I'm down again. My direction is changing – which way can I GO? Get up and GO!_

Tweek played through the classic rock song, his favorite warm-up piece. Unbeknownst to the boy, the near-deafening volume of the long-babied organ had attracted Father Maxi's attention. The priest had sneaked out from somewhere, to listen at the far end of the sanctuary. With the high ceiling and thick walls, the sound had nowhere to go. As Tweek played, the music amplified, layer upon layer, growing in strength until the pipes of the organ, even the stained glass windows, were vibrating.

Father Maxi said nothing. He waited.

When Tweek's warm-up was done, it almost seemed as if the building breathed a sigh of relief.

Tweek pulled out the new piece – his remix of “Gloria”.

He glanced up at the suspended microphones that Father Maxi often used for recordings, wishing that he knew how to turn it on. He sighed again. As his hands touched the keys again, Tweek noticed just a tiny bit of grease on his chewed fingernails.

“I can't let you help me work on the car anymore, Tweek. This gig for Trent is too important,” Craig had told him, “If you hurt your hands, I'd never be able to live with it.”

_Craig..._

_Shit, I can't play this! What was I thinking?_ Tweek thought of the impossible-looking score.

From the back of the great room, Father Maxi thought he knew what to expect as the first notes of Gloria were played. After the initial “excelsis deo,” however, things changed. Each note seemed to swell exponentially, and if Tweek's warm-up had been any indication, “Gloria” wasn't going to be the praise hymn that Father Maxi knew.

The priest blinked. He took off his glasses and wiped them. He put them back on, unable to believe what he was seeing.

An aura of light, what Father Maxi could only describe as a full-body halo, enveloped Tweek. Colors that the priest never seen before spun in a precise harmony about the boy as he played.

It was blasphemous.

It was beautiful.

Tweek's eyes were locked onto the sheet music, his hands moving maniacally over the keys, assaulting all three keyboards seemingly at once. Father Maxi thought that the longer he stared, the faster Tweek's hands moved. Surely it was not humanly possible to even play this piece – much less comprehend writing it? How could he play all three keyboards at once, harmonizing so?

And the sound continued to amplify.

As Father Maxi stared, the swirling aura of unknowable colors coalesced into one single hue – green. It made the priest think of a fresh flower bud in the spring, concealing the promise of some unknowable color within.

And then the crescendo.

To even the untrained ear, it was evident that all the stops on the organ had been pulled out. Father Maxi began to wonder if the instrument could take it? Surely the stress must be building to intolerable levels? The sound was now physically tangible, pressing in on him, overwhelming him. He couldn't imagine how the old organ could take much more.

And then, impossibly, Tweek's unbroken soprano voice rose above that sound.

“Gloria,” he sang, stretching the word, modulating it into at least eight syllables, all in varying pitch.

Father Maxi fell to his knees, unsure of when he'd begun to weep.

“Jesus Christ!” He wept, as if calling out to the Deity for help.

He didn't want that final note to end.

If the note didn't end soon, however, Father Maxi genuinely feared that he might not survive it.

This was the young boy who'd renounced his faith, in favor of a religion that taught that he might actually be reincarnated as...something? What? A cow? No, that was Hinduism. The priest couldn't even think straight. Didn't Buddhist boys shave their heads? Was this composition something that might have been demonically delivered during meditation?

Tweek's hair was a mess, and he was sweaty. He tilted his head back, and as that final “-ahhhhh” left his mouth, the two windows adjacent him shattered outwards.

As that final note faded, Tweek slouched forward, panting.

Several of the organ's pipes had ruptured.

The green halo faded, moving from Tweek like mist, as if blowing away into … everywhere.

*

Some billions of years hence, on a dry and dead, silent Earth, a sound began to build. Rocks vibrated, and dust began to swirl beneath a particularly jagged rockface that overshadowed a smooth boulder. Had there been anyone there to see it, they might have sworn that the little dust devil was trying to take on the form of a humanoid.

But there was no one to see it.

There had not been in so many hundreds of millions of years.

*

Some blocks down the street, Kevin Stoley looked up from the project that occupied so much of his time. The silver-dollar sized ring of iridium that he'd forged, with Bradley Biggle's help, was glowing with strange colors.

“What the fuck?” Kevin gasped, jerking back, as the ring began to glow with strange colors. “What the fuck?” Kevin gasped, jerking back, as the ring began to glow with strange colors. “What the fuck?” Kevin gasped, jerking back, as the ring began to glow with strange colors. “What the fuck?” Kevin gasped, catching himself in the act of jerking back, and swearing that his hand was leaving a vapor trail as he pulled it away, dropping the tweezers with which he held it. He dropped the ring. He flinched and dropped the ring. Kevin held tight to the tweezers, holding the glowing ring, mesmerized by the strange colors that he didn't recognize.

“What the fu-...? IT WORKS!” Kevin crowed, watching those dozens of hands moving along that flesh-colored trail to coalesce into his own right hand.

“IT WORKS!” Kevin screamed, grabbing up his phone, but finding it fried. “Holy shit!” Kevin gasped, as he ran downstairs to use the landline to call Bradley.

*

A few streets over, Bradley Biggle was curled up on his bed, clutching his stomach and whimpering. He managed to get leaned over the edge, just in time to throw up as he broke out in a cold sweat.

“Aw, dammit anyway, Kevin!” He moaned, as the phone began to ring.

“Bradley, one of your stupid little poser friends is on the phone, I think it's the nerdy one,” Henrietta shouted.

“Get Mom!” Bradley wailed.

“Fucking _aliens_ ,” Henrietta snorted, “MOM!”

*

At the South Park Catholic Church, broken glass covered the windowsills inside, and the bushes below them outside. At the organ sat a boy, his stylish blond hair damp with sweat. At the back of the sanctuary, a priest got to his feet.

He began to walk down the center aisle, his steps unsure, and his mind reeling.

The silence that had descended over the church was eerie. It was, Father Maxi thought, as if something miraculous had just gone – never to return. He thought of a funeral mass.

“Tweek, my child?” He asked nervously.

“I...I'm sorry, Father,” Tweek rasped, his voice seemingly spent.

With no concern for propriety, Father Maxi grabbed up an ornamental chalice and dipped it into the basin of holy water.

Tweek drank gratefully.

The priest couldn't help but stare at Tweek's hands, though. These were the hands that had brought forth that impossible sound, hands that had moved so quickly that Father Maxi's eyes had been unable to follow them. Clean but rough hands with neatly trimmed nails, which for some reason, looked too large for such a small boy. For just a moment, the priest was looking right at Tweek – not down at him.

When he'd recovered somewhat, Father Maxi knelt down at Tweek's side. He tentatively touched the boy's hand, as if needing to confirm that this was indeed a human child, and not some angel in disguise visiting him unawares.

Tweek's nail-bitten hands weren't too clean. There was grease under a couple of somewhat intact nails. And his hands were so small.

“I doubt that even in the heyday of Farinelli or Cafarelli, has such a voice ever been heard,” Father Maxi offered, doubting that Tweek would get the reference. He waited. “Was that a song you're going to play for Trent, and the boys from Winchester?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Tweek whispered, as the priest scanned the incomprehensible musical score.

“You wrote this?” _I'm not Beethoven, but no human could play this!_

Tweek could only nod, his voice spent.

“Have you ever played this before?”

Tweek shook his head.

Then he slumped, the priest just catching him before he fell off the bench. With Tweek in his arms, Father Maxi carried him to center of the dais, to step down to the aisle. He lifted the boy up, as if making some kind of offering, and wept again.

Tweek needed help.

Father Maxi gasped as one of Tweek's arms slid from his chest to hang down.

Tweek's hands were bleeding.

Outside, the sound of sirens began to fill the air.

*

“Let's put the brake drums back on,” Craig suggested, as he and Stan finished with Red Racer's rear end. “They turned well, and the new shoes are-”

“You're not converting?” Stan cut in.

“Nope. I wanna leave her all original for now,” Craig replied. “I can always order some Brembos later, if I-”

Craig froze.

For just an instant, Stan saw that flash of color that he'd only ever seen before in two others – Kyle and Kenny. It seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“Craig?”

“Tweek!” Craig gasped, at about the same time that, across town, Kevin Stoley was saying, “Holy shit!”

Something was wrong.

 _KYLE!_ Stan's mind cried out, as he felt a chill, the tiny hairs all over his body standing on end in warning.

And then Kyle was there, standing in Craig's garage in his red pyjamas.

Craig blinked.

Sitting in the middle of the garage was a shiny, new, red Corvette, looking as if she had just rolled off the truck and onto the showroom floor in 1977.

“Awwwww,” Stan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dude, this is pretty fucked up, right here!”

“Later!” Kyle exclaimed, turning to a stunned Craig. “We'll deal with this later. Craig,” Kyle said firmly, “What you're seeing _is_ real, OK? It's temporal fallout, caused by Keith using the radiation off of your meteorite to charge up his future tech.”

“You mean Keith pulled off some kinda temporal miracle, with a chronoton surge?” Craig asked.

Kyle and Stan both blinked at him.

“Dudes, I'm a Trek-nerd, remember?” Craig grinned. “I get it!”

Craig Tucker was smiling. In fact, he was almost giddy.

It was quite unnerving.

But Craig had seen it all. It was as if a light bulb had just come on over his head, like a cartoon. He'd just seen Kyle 'beam in'.

“Y-you're Eclipse, _aren't_ you?” Craig then asked Kyle.

“Yes,” Kyle confessed, “But forget it, OK? Craig, it's Tweek!”

“I...I know?” Craig replied, bemused, “He's...practicing? He...he sang the song!”

“ _What_ song?” Stan asked.

“The song you can't play, the one he wrote for Trent,” Craig explained. “I mean, if you guys thought the Brown Note was something, you should see Tweek's new score! You'd know if you could read music. You'd have to have like three people on three keyboards to play the crazy thing!”

Kyle looked hard at Stan, and then Keith appeared to step out of a thin portal of blue light.

“See? Chronoton particles!” Craig declared, pointing. “I knew it!”

“Nerd,” Keith coughed the word, checking his recharged Discriminator. “There's been two serious temporal shockwaves. One at the church, one here,” Keith told them, “Luckily, they're dissipating into the future, highly focused, and not into the past. The curve suggests it won't do any damage for several million years, though.”

“Keith, I know,” Kyle added, “It's Tweek. _Kyle_ told me!”

“Tweek?” Stan gasped. “Which Kyle, Kyle?”

“Pick one,” Keith snorted.

“ _Kyle_ told Kyle?” Craig wondered.

“Did Kyle cause this?” Stan wondered, “Ripples?”

“No,” Keith and Kyle said together.

“We have to get to Tweek!” Craig almost yelled, beginning to look panicked.

“The car?” Stan pointed at it.

“Fuck the car,” Keith shook their head, “Kyle, you up for another minor miracle?”

“I'm fine,” Kyle agreed, and he did look better than he had the night before. “Tweek's fainted, he's gone into an abnormal heart rhythm. The paramedics are at the church now.” Kyle's insulin pump beeped. “Craig? Coke – now!” Kyle added, as Craig fetched one from the fridge for him.

“WELL?! What _about_ Tweek? How do _you_ know?” Craig demanded, as if he'd not just seen Kyle “beam in” like a _**Star Trek**_ episode.

“Craig,” Kyle sighed, “I'm a Metahuman. A real one, not pretend. I _know_ things.”

“Like how _Kenny_ knows things?” Craig asked, looking as if he were finally beginning to piece it all together. “And so's Kenny?”

“Yes,” Kenny agreed.

“Yes,” Kyle answered, “And Tweek's going to be fine. We just have to get to him.”

Craig looked at the 'new' car.

“Oh, heeeeell no!” Stan exclaimed.

“Fuck me, I can't drive a stick!” Craig then remembered.

“Not until January,” Keith muttered, “Kyle, this wasn't supposed to happen!” He checked his Discriminator again. “Other than reassembly and tires, that is!”

“Fuck the car! What about Tweek?” Craig countered, as Kyle hastily slurped his Coke, then had Stan help him throw a tarp over the 'Vette.

Then the world disappeared in a swirl of pixelation.

“Boys?” Thomas Tucker wondered, just coming in the service door. “Now where'd they go?” He lifted the back end of the tarp and examined the rear axle. “Wow, they work fast!”

And somehow, he failed to notice the rest of the car as Laura was calling him.

“Hello? Well yes, the girls can go...”

*

Craig Tucker leaned over the trimmed evergreen bushes just outside the ER doors of Hell's Pass Hospital and lost his breakfast.

“I hope you're boned up on Gray's Anatomy,” Keith said to Kyle.

“The FUCK did you do to me?” Craig demanded, realizing where they were.

“Later,” Kyle answered, as they waited for the sirens.

“You fixed your pancreas yet?” Stan asked.

Kyle shook his head. “No. I'm gonna fix Tweek's heart,” Kyle informed them. He turned to Keith, ignoring a spluttering Craig. “What set off the changes?”

“Not what. _Who_. Tweek did,” Keith replied flatly, studying his tablet. “He must have done something to trigger all those dormant chronoton particles he's been soaking up from the meteorite?”

“My Christmas present is _radioactive_?!” Craig squeaked.

“Mildly,” Keith told him, “It's mostly harmless.”

“ _ **MOS**_ TLY?!” Craig exclaimed, his voice breaking ridiculously. “If you fry my guinea pig, I'll kick your ass!”

“That's just the chronotons talking,” Keith assured them. “I figure it's probably fried the future by now, but oh well. I'm still here, so-”

Craig puked again.

“Gross!” They all squeaked, jumping back.

“I hear it!” Craig jerked his head up, “The ambulance!” He turned back to Kyle. “ _What_ are you gonna do to Tweek, now?”

“What about Tweek?” Kenny panted, as he and Butters came riding up on their bikes. “You said it was urgent?” Kenny asked Kyle.

“I did?” Kyle shrugged. “Guess I did.”

“I hate it when you do that,” Stan reminded him, as the ambulance pulled up.

There was, oddly, no rush to what the EMT's were doing, though. When the back doors of the large van opened, they all heard, “GAGH! I'm fine, I tell ya! LeMme ouTTa here! Father, you tell 'em!”

Father Maxi emerged from the back of the ambulance. His face was strange, yet he was oddly calm. “It's a miracle,” he mumbled, “I saw it all, and it's a _miracle_!”

“Maybe a _temporal_ miracle,” Keith muttered.

“Son, we need to check you out,” an EMT was telling Tweek, “Father Maxi is all upset about the spell you had, and-”

“I'm nOt an iDiot!” Tweek snapped, struggling against the restraints as they wheeled him out.

“It'll be OK, Babe. I think,” Craig assured him, coming over.

“Who's this now?” The EMT asked, looking Craig up and down. Between the vomit on his coveralls, the grease, and his general appearance, the EMT was concerned. Craig was also pale and shaking, and his foot hurt.

“Whadda we got?” Nurse Christina asked, as she came barging out the door. She saw the boys. “OH no!” She added. “Not you again!”

“Hello, Nurse,” the boys all mumbled.

“ThIs IS KidNapPing!” Tweek exclaimed.

“I told you, it's a miracle!” Father Maxi repeated, “The boy had a heart attack, or stroke, or something, while practicing on the organ!”

Everyone gave him a look.

“Don't _even_ go there!” Father Maxi glared at them.

“Yeah! You leave Father alone!” Butters spoke up, as a few Residents came out to join the Nurse.

“You OK, Kenny?” Christina asked.

“Fine, thanks. You?” Kenny replied.

“I was 'til _you_ lot showed up!” Christina complained.

“And his hands were bleeding!” Father Maxi went on, babbling the whole story from the beginning as Tweek was wheeled inside, and everyone else was ushered into the waiting area. “It was a stigmata!”

“So lemme get this straight,” Craig finally said, which got a few snickers. He ignored them. “Tweek came in, warmed up, and then played the song he wrote? The _**Gloria-Remix**_?” Father Maxi nodded at him. “Father, you CAN'T play that song! Did you read the sheet music? It'd take at least three people on three keyboards to do it! It's the most complicated music I ever read!”

“I...I couldn't even see his hands moving,” Father Maxi admitted, “And when I approached him, I'd swear...I know it's impossible...but he...he was older?”

“Older?” Kenny asked.

“Perhaps sixteen or seventeen? It's hard to judge, with Tweek, you know.”

The only one who didn't seem perplexed was Keith.

“It's very simple, father. Tweek had accumulated a dangerous dose of chronoton particles, essential for time travel. The passion of his music must have triggered them somehow, setting off a highly localized temporal field that connected your Tweek with a Tweek in the future. Maybe several Tweeks. It's all pretty easy, when you think about it in four dimensions. Maybe five. You were seeing multiple sets of hands tickling the ivories, so they looked blurred, since they were all slightly out of temporal phase. I'd say that once he was done, the shock of the temporal realignment must have made Tweek pass out, and that's why he's fine now.”

“Bullshit,” Kenny coughed.

“Oh!” Father Maxi thought about it.

“GIVE ME MY CLOTHES BACK!” Tweek was yelling, as they'd left the doors open.

Just then, as they were all trying to sort it out, Mrs. Biggle walked in with Bradley. The boys all looked sideways at him.

“Stomach?” Keith asked.

“I feel like I been run over by a truck,” Bradley whined.

“Poor choice of words,” Kenny muttered to himself.

“Chronotons,” Keith nodded seriously.

“And a _lot_ of 'em,” Bradley groaned. “Kevin really did it _this_ time!” He leaned his head over and threw up in the trash can.

“I'll go sign you in,” Mrs. Biggle decided.

“Dude! _You_ can't be here!” Kenny said to Bradley, “Not if you're...”

“Nurse Christina knows,” Bradley explained.

“Well, Bradley's an alien, Father,” Butters pointed out.

“He's not from Gelgamek, is he?” Father Maxi looked worried.

“Oh, my favorite Kryptonian again!” Nurse Christina rolled her eyes, as she came to collect Bradley. “C'mon with me, Kal El.”

“It's Kokujonian,” Bradley sighed at the joke.

The boys all looked at Father Maxi, who just shrugged. “It's South Park, boys. I wouldn't be surprised if Jesus walked in.”

“Just how do you plan to fix Tweek's heart?” Craig whispered in Kyle's ear.

 _I can warp reality, and realign it,_ Kyle's voice said in Craig's mind, which should have startled him more than it did. Craig, however, had gone back into full “Tucker Mode”: stoic and unaffected, or, looking as if he had _zero_ fucks to give.

“You see? That's what you get for playing superheroes all the time,” Craig whispered back.

But despite Craig's brave front, Kyle knew better. After all, he'd _been_ Craig Tucker. Literally. More so, he'd been Craig on the day that Craig had first decided that he really liked Tweek.

And Kyle knew what Craig was thinking. What he was remembering. In that brief telepathic touch, Kyle had glimpsed a memory forming in Craig's mind.

A memory that Craig was trying to push away _._

“ _V-fib!” A nurse yelled, as the monitor went wild._

“ _He's going into cardiac arrest!” Someone else shouted, as the straps were undone and Thomas pulled his son out of the way._

“ _Tweek?” Craig cried, as Thomas carried him out. Craig reached out over his father's shoulder, but that was all he could do as the ER doors closed._

“ _Thomas, what's going on?” Richard Tweak asked, as he and Helen met them in the corridor._

“ _The police called, and said that Tweek had -”_

“ _HE'S HAVING A FUCKING HEART ATTACK, YOU STUPID BASTARD!” Craig screamed, as Thomas held the boy back. Craig was flailing about, his eyes wild, as he struggled to get loose and get to Tweek's father. “All that meth and caffeine! What the fuck is WRONG with you people?! I swear to God, I'll KILL YOU!”_

“ _Not today,” Dr Norris commented, as he walked up, yanked Craig's pajama trousers down, and jabbed Craig in the butt with a needle._

“ _God dammit! You son of a biiiii...” Craig's voice trailed off, and his head lolled. He passed out in his father's arms_.

“Tweek didn't have a heart attack, Father,” Craig assured them, “That's not going to happen.”

“How do you know?” Kenny asked.

“Because if he was going to, he'd have had it already,” Craig replied.

“Well, as young Keith here is from the far future, we should ask him?” Father Maxi asked, totally nonplussed. “What? Keith's a Futurist, Bradley's an alien, Kenny's probably descended from Lovecraft's Old Ones, and I don't think I really _want_ to know about the rest of you!”

They all stared at him in shock.

“How the he-... _heck_ do you know that?” Kenny gasped.

“I was in the secret Vatican Library, Kenny,” Father Maxi explained, “You think we don't know about the creatures that inhabited this world before the _**Re**_ creation?”

“Oh!” Kenny agreed, wondering how the priest would take the news that he'd been to Heaven numerous times, but kept getting returned. He decided to not bring it up.

Nurse Christina then came back in. “I'm putting Tweek and Bradley in a room. Doc wants 'em to spend the night for observation.” She looked at Craig. “You OK?”

“I'm fine,” Craig nodded.

“Good! Then go do something with your boyfriend!” The nurse ordered him.

“I think I should get back to the church,” Father Maxi offered, taking his leave of them. He winked at Kyle and patted his head on the way out.

“That was...odd?” Butters observed, as they took the elevator up to the children's ward.

“Kyle, you realize you're still wearing that red flannel onesie thing?” Kenny pointed out.

“Awwwww!” Kyle exclaimed, his face going as red as his hair. His “jammies” (as Stan teased him) then pixelated into dull green cargo shorts, and a tan polo shirt.

“And you were so _cute_ ,” Stan nudged him.

“How would you like a lobotomy?” Kyle teased him back.

“So, you can literally warp reality?” Craig asked, fascinated, as the door slid open.

“I figured it out in fourth grade, then sorta forgot about it,” Kyle told him, as they made their way down the corridor to Tweek's room. “See, I learned from all these books, that existence is-”

“BORING!” Stan cut him off.

“You were the one who busted Cartman, and got him sent off, didn't you?” Craig asked.

“And I enjoyed every single second of it, too!” Kyle agreed.

“This is odd,” Keith cut in. They all looked at Keith. “The chronoton counts look exhausted? For Tweek, I'd expect it. But Craig?”

“Probably the car,” Stan reminded them.

“Yeah, that sorta took all the fun out of it, though,” Craig sighed, as they entered the room.

“About time!” Tweek complained, raising an eyebrow. “Craig, you look awful!”

“Thanks, Babe, I love you too!” Craig snorted, flopping in the chair by Tweek's bed. “You OK?” He took his hand.

“I'm fine,” Tweek sighed in resignation. “I dunno what happened! One minute, I'm playing the song, the next thing I know, I wake up in the back of an ambulance!”

“No memory?” Keith asked, and Tweek shook his head. “Odd,” Keith added. “I guess the force of the explosion must have _totally_ dissipated into the future, then. Lucky for us.”

“Lucky you're still here!” Kenny reminded Keith.

“Nah, I'm good now,” Keith tapped the discriminator. “I dunno what's going on up there, though! Look!” He showed them the tablet.

Every single line from their present, into their future, had turned red and shot off the chart.

They looked at one another. Nurse Christina brought in a sedated Bradley. “Lead sheets,” she pointed out.

“That should do it. Plenty of fluids,” Keith advised, “And maybe a lethal dose of copper, for a human, that is.” He paused. “What, _every_ one knows where I'm from?”

“How do you know about Bradley?” Kenny had to ask.

“Honey, it's South Park!” Nurse Christina replied, “Someone has to take care of the sick aliens. At least he _looks_ human.” She then looked at Craig. “And you're still looking green, Boyfriend,” she warned him.

Tweek snickered.

Nurse Christina fetched a gown, and pointed at the bathroom. “Go clean up, then take a nap, Baby,” she patted Craig's shoulder. “You look like you had a rough night?”

“Rough morning,” Stan nodded.

“Amen,” Butters agreed.

“Why, what did _you_ two do? Sleep in?” Kyle asked. “I was the one who-”

“No,” Kenny cut him off, looking up at the ceiling. Butters' face went very pink.

“Awwwww!” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose again and grimaced.

Kyle didn't get it. No one bothered to explain it to him.

As Craig decided that a hot shower and nap was starting to sound really good, Nurse Christina made some notes on the chart. She studied it, and raised an eyebrow. Then she examined Tweek. She opened his gown to listen to his heart. She went back to the chart, looking confused.

“Uh oh,” Kyle hummed.

“I thought you had a bad heart, Tweek?” The nurse asked him.

“I sorta do?” Tweek agreed, “Why?”

“Because this EKG report says you're perfectly normal?” She replied.

They all looked at Tweek.

“Ooops?” Keith offered.

“'Ooops'?” Kyle repeated it, “What _ooops_?”

“Are you an alien too?” Nurse Christina asked.

“No?” Tweek said softly, looking confused.

“We used to think he was,” Stan offered, grinning. He nudged Kyle in the ribs.

“Don't look at me?” Kyle offered lamely, having not done anything. He checked in with all the Other Kyles.

But none of them had done a thing to Tweek.

 _My Tweek doesn't have a heart problem, in ninth grade,_ One of the Kyles replied. Several others of the 'chorus' agreed. It was such the discussion that Kyle had to tune them out.

They told Craig about it, when he came out of the shower. Nurse Christina went to fetch some lunch for them, taking his coveralls for laundry, and Craig climbed into the bed with Tweek.

“Watch the IV now!” Tweek warned him.

“She didn't put a catheter in you, did she?” Kenny asked.

“NO!” Tweek gasped, “But – nrgh! - my legs are in restraints!”

“Oh, uhm, well be glad'a that!” Butters agreed, “I, uhm,” he blushed harder, “I hate those things!”

“Keith,” Craig then asked, “Since you're like, a thousand years more advanced than us, I got a question.”

Keith nodded.

“How come I can remember things in the future, like I already did them?” Craig asked. “Is it the chronotons coming off my meteorite?”

“You should probably modify his memory,” Kenny told Kyle.

“The fuck you will!” Craig protested. “Wait, you can _do_ that?”

“Whadda'ya mean?” Tweek wondered, so Kyle explained it to him too.

“So this is how you knew about Clyde, Jimmy, Timmy, and the rest?” Tweek asked Kenny.

Kenny sighed. He figured that he might as well tell them, too.

“I'm from the future, too,” Kenny admitted.

Surprisingly, Tweek and Craig took it well. In fact, they didn't seem to care. They just lay in the bed, cuddling, as Kenny told them his tale over lunch, which was less than edible. Kyle called David, who arrived with some real food. He couldn't stay, though, as the restaurant was quite busy.

Kenny _did_ leave a few choice bits out, however.

Like Tweek being splattered all over Route 285.

He did, however, mention the accident, and bits of those aborted futures.

Tweek was shivering. Butters fetched a blanket from a passing laundry cart.

“I can't believe Clyde died,” Tweek said, his voice very small and low. “I never even knew he was sick?”

“He's not. Not now,” Keith told him. “Actually, Kenny getting sucked back in time is probably partly my fault.”

“That makes sense,” Craig declared, “Since you're a Futurist.” (As if that made everything OK in their book?)

“Speaking of which, are _you_ OK?” Kyle asked Keith.

“Yeah, one of my contacts brought me some more Ribozene after the last time shift,” Keith told him.

“Who?” Craig asked.

“Never mind,” Stan cut in. “The less we know? OK?”

“Probably right,” Kenny agreed.

“Moot point,” Keith pointed out, “Now that Tweek's pretty much bent the future Timeline over and butt-raped it!”

“WHAT?!” Tweek squeaked.

“It's just a figure of speech, Babe,” Craig assured him, yawning.

“NRGH! How dId I m-meSS up the FutuRe?” Tweek asked, sounding panicked.

“Don't tell _him_ things like _that_!” Kenny told Keith.

Keith shrugged. “That green aura that Father Maxi described must have been it. Near as I can figure, the temporal oscillations while Tweek was practicing must have repaired some of the damage to his body?”

What they hadn't told Tweek, though, was what Kyle had planned to do to Tweek. A look from Craig confirmed to them all to keep it quiet, too.

“Apparently, Tweek oscillated into parallel, temporary Timelines where he was perfectly healthy?” Keith theorized.

“Guys?” Tweek then spoke up, licking his lips and moving his jaw. He stuck his finger in his mouth. “I have all my teeth?”

“What?!” Craig gasped, “Lemme see!” Craig looked in. “Shit! He's right! He's got tonsils, too!”

“ _You_ should know,” Kenny mumbled.

“I had my tonsils out when I was little!” Tweek exclaimed, looking at Keith. “They're back!”

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

“I just hope that nothing else changed,” Keith admitted, “That was one hell of a temporal explosion, if it did damage to the physical world!”

“Oh, God! The windows,” Tweek sighed, “And I think I broke Father Maxi's organ, too!”

“Don't _even_ laugh at that!” Butters warned them all, as Craig's phone rang with a video call request.

It was Trent and Pip. The two were just getting ready for bed, along with a dorm full of other rowdy boys.

“They're seven or eight hours ahead,” Kyle pointed out.

“Well, not literally,” Keith put in. “Sorry!”

The boys talked for about twenty minutes, with most of the conversation going “music-geek,” as Kenny called it. Trent was yawning, though, and politely excused them.

“Pip was an absolute beast at Rugby today,” Trent told them in closing. “We're just knackered, you see.”

“Pip?!” They all asked.

“Yes, three goals! So if you don't mind, we'll -” Pip cut in, “Are you in _hospital_?”

“Just a checkup,” Tweek lied smoothly.

“Well, we're just _chuffed*_ about the new remix, Tweek!” Pip offered, “Can't wait to hear it!”

They had to close the call then, as it was lights out.

“The hell is 'chuffed'?” Kenny wondered.

“Maybe there's a cream for that?” Butters rubbed his bottom.

“I wish I'd recorded the song,” Tweek sniffled, “I don't think I can play it again.”

Kyle snapped his fingers. “Hang on?!”

“NO!” Kenny ordered him.

“Why the hell not?” Keith stuck his tongue out, blew a raspberry, and tossed his tablet over his shoulder.

“Be right back!” Kyle said, dashing out the door.

**SOME HOURS EARLIER. At the Church** **:**

Tweek played through the classic rock song, his favorite warm-up piece. Unbeknownst to the boy, the near-deafening volume of the long-babied organ had attracted Father Maxi's attention. The priest had sneaked out from somewhere, to listen at the far end of the sanctuary. With the high ceiling and thick walls, the sound had nowhere to go. As Tweek played, the music amplified, layer upon layer, growing in strength until the pipes of the organ, even the stained glass windows, were vibrating.

Father Maxi said nothing. He waited.

When Tweek's warm-up was done, it almost seemed as if the building breathed a sigh of relief.

Tweek pulled out the new piece – the remix of “Gloria”.

In the back room where Father Maxi kept his professional recording equipment, Kyle pressed the red button marked RECORD. The high-grade analog metal tape began to spin as the digital mastering backup unit kicked on.

“How did you know, Kyle?” Father Maxi had asked, when Kyle had arrived.

“Just a hunch, Father,” Kyle had smiled.

Kyle's hand was hovering over the controls all the while Tweek played, making sure that the dB level never broke +3. It wasn't easy, and as tired as he was from the night before, and had wanted to stay in bed, having been awakened by Hospital-Kyle to come to the church after the disaster of Tweek's practice run of the new “Gloria” had been more than enough to get him up and going and there early to record the impossible song.

Father Maxi had gone out into the sanctuary.

Tweek played.

And sang.

Kyle focused.

Still, Other-Kyles listened.

Perhaps ALL of them.

Kyle-Prime wept.

Eternity seemed to pass.

And then Tweek was done. He fainted.

“Shit!” Kyle exclaimed, leaving a hasty note for Father about the recording, and pixelating away to Craig's without realizing that he was still wearing his PJ's!

 ***PRESENT** *

As soon as he walked out the door of Tweek's hospital room, Kyle walked back in carrying a large, round case and a professional CD player. Everyone stared at him, especially Tweek.

“What's this?” Craig wondered.

“A recording of 'Gloria', the Tweek-remix,” Kyle smiled. “The mic was on, Tweek. Why do you think Father Maxi wasn't there when you came in?”

Tweek gasped, his face a study in wonder as he took the tape case. He didn't even ask how Kyle had done it.

“You were in the back, setting up?” Keith smiled.

“And the _ripple_ -effect?” Kenny snarled.

“How do _we_ know it wasn't a Closed Causality Loop?” Keith shrugged.

And even though it sounded totally cliché, Craig accused Tweek of cradling the professionally mastered tape like a mother with a new baby.

“Well, are you gonna play it?” Stan asked Kyle.

Tweek said nothing at all. He just lay there, clutching the tape case, as Craig held him.

Kyle pressed PLAY on the CD, the volume low.

“Hey, we just heard you were-” Clyde interrupted, as he and Token came through the door. They froze, however, as Tweek's voice came through the speakers – which began to glow green.

When the song was over, there were only two reactions.

Clyde, Butters, Keith, and amazingly – Craig – had been reduced to tears.

Stan, Kenny, Token, Tweek, and Kyle were stunned.

Bradley slept through it.

Tweek and Craig embraced.

“You're fucking amazing, Babe!” Craig cried on Tweek's shoulder.

“Let's give 'em some room,” Kyle suggested, as they exited, almost zombie-like.

“So, what now?” Stan whispered to Kenny.

“I have no idea?” Kenny looked at Keith. “It's all blown to bits, isn't it?”

Keith nodded.

“But _I'm_ still here?” Kenny asked.

Keith nodded again.

“And Tweek and Craig are still in _there_ ,” Keith smiled. “It's all _gone_ now, Kenny. ALL of it. Don't you get it?” Keith smiled wider.

“Get what?” Clyde asked, “Are you messing up the future, Keith?”

“Uh, oh!” Butters hummed.

“Well, sorta,” Keith admitted, “I think I just gave up.”

“I don't get it?” Clyde shrugged.

“That's OK, Clyde,” Kenny assured him.

“So what happened to Tweek, guys? Is he OK?” Token asked.

“He's fine, _now_ ,” Keith smiled.

Stan and Kenny were laughing.

Back in their room, Tweek and Craig had fallen asleep.

“You should hang out with us, Keith,” Clyde offered, “It's a lot safer!”

“You can say that again,” Keith sighed.

“That's what you get for hanging out with those guys,” Token told them, “Just ask Tweek or Craig. Did you know they dragged Craig off to Peru once?”

“Yes, Token, yes, Clyde,” Kenny sighed.

“Oh, would you guys just GET OVER that?!” Stan exclaimed, but it _was_ funny.

“The future just ain't what it used to be?” Kenny mused, clapping Kyle on the shoulder, squeezing softly. Kyle hadn't said much, after all.

Then the corridor exploded into unknowable colors.

*

*Notes: Libera, album- **New Dawn** , track-“Gloria”. Tracks listed are Libera's actual songs. You can look them up on YouTube. The idea for this chapter came over Christmas, listening to the “Canticum Novum” remix of “Gaudete”.

Chuffed – British slang. Delighted. Very, very happy.

The world-record largest pipe organ in New Jersey is currently in restoration.

  


  


  


  


  


  


 


	36. Somewhere Down the (Time)Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way out of the hospital, Kyle & Kenny are suddenly drawn back into the Void - that place where Kenny began this journey of his. Wisdom is imparted, and our heroes take a short vacation from their duties. Upon returning to their present, at the exact moment they left, Kyle decides that he has something else to do. There is something that he has to know, but finds out more than he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains content about Kyle/Eclipse having used his powers to recreate his body in the form that fits his own mental image. That image is one of agender. Also, Kenny lectures Kyle about the differences between love and lust. Nudity is mentioned. No sex. If you're bothered by this, and made it this far into this behemoth of a tale, I don't know what else to say. All they do is sit there and talk.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**36**

**Somewhere Down the (Time)Line**

*****

_Tonight is not the time or place_  
and there's no tellin' when  
But from the look that you gave to me  
we're sure to meet again.  
Some other place  
some other time  
We will be together  
somewhere down the line.  
T.G. Sheppard

*****

“Awww, _**shit**_!” Kyle and Kenny both groaned.

“Where the hell are we?!” Kyle exclaimed, looking around, but seeing nothing but swirling miasmas of insane colors. For one wild moment, he thought that this must really be how an acid trip worked.

Then he remembered San Francisco, and decided that it wasn't.

“Ha! Something that Eclipse _doesn't_ know?” Kenny laughed.

Kyle thought that he was floating, but looking around, couldn't see his legs to get his feet under him. In fact, he couldn't locate his feet. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face, either. He reached up, or, at least, tried. He couldn't feel his face. He found that he didn't have hands either.

He simply _was_.

And then it came to him.

“This is where _you_ go, when you die, Kenny? Isn't it?”

“No, I always end up in Heaven or Hell, but I never stay long,” Kenny replied, looking around for that other presence that he assumed would be there.

For Other-Kenny.

Old-Kenny.

But they were alone.

“No, I've been here once or twice before,” Kenny corrected himself, remembering as if it were something that he knew, but simply hadn't thought about in a long time. “That time I died of accelerated muscular dystrophy, remember? Well, before the big quantum leap, that is.”

“Yeah, how'd that work?” Kyle wondered, imagining that Kenny was shrugging.

Then again, he couldn't see Kenny either. He simply sensed the presence of Kenny. If he concentrated, the swirls seemed to form a Kenny-sized outline.

“ _You_ set off a temporal explosion in the future, which was my present, and sent me back to our past, to when I was twelve, remember?” Kenny recited their theory.

“I meant when you were gone all that time, and we had Butters, then Tweek, for the new fourth friend!” Kyle huffed.

“Bad reincarnation,” Kenny guessed. “Only time it ever happened. But yeah, I was here. I didn't realize it until I ended up here again, right after I blew my head off in the Auto Mechanics Garage. I was sitting in the wreck of Craig's car, you know.”

“Yeah, I think so?” Kyle replied. “Shit, that's deep, Dude!”

They waited.

Time passed.

Or didn't.

There was no way to know.

“You killed yourself?” Kyle asked.

“Didn't _you_?” Kenny replied with a question. When Kyle didn't answer, he added, “It wasn't the first time. I'd hope it'd be the last.”

“So, how _do_ you come back?” Kyle had to ask, silently pondering Kenny's statement, and the perhaps inadvertent revelation that Kenny had just made.

Kyle had no memory, from any other Kyle, of committing suicide.

“As soon as I die, my mom gets pregnant with me again. In a matter of minutes, I'm a full-term baby, delivered, and she puts me in my bed. By morning, I'm me again. Only in a perfect body. But for that once. Then I was _here_ for a while for that one cycle,” Kenny explained.

“So, when your mom dies, or hits menopause, that's it for you, then? You'll die, and stay dead?” Kyle wondered.

“I hope so,” Kenny replied, “But there's a catch.”

“Which is?”

“In case you haven't noticed, Kyle, my Mom's had a hard life. But she looks fine, right? All the drugs, booze, abuse? Not a mark on her? She cleans up good, don't she?” Kenny's laughter filled the void. “You saw how she looked at Christmas, and that was after being in rehab. The same with Dad. When Chaos and I took him out in Sodosopa, I stuck two Mysterangs in him. I'm sure the one in the leg hit the femoral artery. He fell three or more stories. And he lived. See a pattern?”

He didn't sound like Kenny to Kyle. At least, not the Kenny that Kyle knew. True, Kenny had sounded odd – too intelligent – when he'd first leaped back, but before the other boys knew his secret of being mentally, spiritually older. But now he sounded downright bizarre.

Kyle thought about it. “Come to think of it, yeah, she does?”

“She doesn't _age_ , Kyle. Or if she does, it's like reverse dog-years,” Kenny explained.

“So, like Father Maxi said, you're part Old One? A Nephelim? Some kind of other-worldly, hybrid Being?” Kyle asked. “But how does that explain your mom? Something the Cult did to her?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Kenny admitted, “All I know is that I saw this picture of a baby in a pentagram, in Henrietta Biggle's book. When the Goth Kids were in the Cthulhu cult? 'Member? And I just knew, when I saw it, that it was meant to represent me. Mom and Dad were in the cult, just for the free food and beer, though.”

“Dude! They _dedicated_ you to Cthulhu?!”

“Fucked if I know,” Kenny replied. “Hell, _she_ doesn't even know. But I remember the first time it happened. Well, the first time I _can_ remember. It probably happened before that. Me dying, that is.”

“But when you were gone for so long?” Kyle repeated.

“I think Mom was pregnant with Karen that time,” Kenny mused, “I mean, hell, one day Karen was just _there,_ you know? I guess Mom had to have time off. So here I waited.” He paused. “Well, I think I spent some time in the lost city of R'lyeh, but I'm not sure. It looked familiar, when Cartman banished us to there. It's kinda foggy, though. Like I'm not _supposed_ to remember it.”

“This is crazy!” Kyle protested. “I mean, you don't really know if-”

“Carol told me, in one of those _other_ futures,” Kenny interrupted, which gave Kyle pause. “We finally had a talk about it. It's true! She knows, Kyle. Her and Dad. And the assholes never told me!”

_Carol?_

“And you believe that? It's crazy!” Kyle countered, finding that he wanted to NOT believe it, more than acknowledge that it made sense.

“Really?” Kenny scoffed, “You believe in all the Old Testament miracles, right?”

“Yeah? So?”

“So is this any wilder than that?” Kenny challenged him. He waited. Kyle didn't respond at once. “You're fucking Eclipse,” Kenny snorted, “You could probably part the Red Sea if you wanted to. Or bring us ten plagues?”

“I guess not, then,” Kyle had to admit, surprised to find that Kenny knew some Bible stories.

“Besides, you're something of a miracle yourself, aren't you? Eclipse? The one-in-a-thousand-years Metahuman? Omnipotent, as far as the life experiences of every Kyle Broflovski that ever was, or will be? You're essentially Q from _**Trek**_ , Kyle. Or something? And _you_ ask _me_? You're the one who's not _human_ , Eclipse.”

“It doesn't seem to work here,” Kyle discovered, finding that other than Kenny, he was utterly alone. He hadn't been Eclipse for that long, at least, not the Eclipse with full access to the Kyle Collective, as he'd come to know it. **_The Council of Kyles_** _? Oh, God, no!_ He told himself. _You're the Kyle-est Kyle there is!_

_Oh, stop!_

Kyle suddenly found the near-solitude unnerving. He hadn't realized just much he'd come to rely on The Collective.

“Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“You know we just left Clyde and them standing there, wondering what the hell happened?” Kenny reminded him. “We probably vanished in front of him, and you know Clyde. We'll never be able to explain this to him.”

“Oh, shit!” Kyle gasped.

“Don't worry, if it works like last time, when we leave, we can go wherever and whenever we want when we leave here,” Kenny theorized. “At least, it was like that last time. I think it works like the Nexus in _**Star Trek: Generations**_. Only it doesn't suck here.”

“And you wanted to be _twelve_ again?” Kyle scoffed.

“I wasn't focused,” Kenny countered, “It just sort of happened.” Kenny thought about it. “I was thinking about Leo.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Ever since that trip to Hawaii, you know. Then he started sharing his lunch with me, before the reduced-fee meal program got started.”

“You think Korx came here, when they got wiped out of existence that time?” Kyle wondered, deciding to change the subject.

“I hope so,” Kenny sighed, although it made no sound. In fact, their voices weren't really making sound. Then again, it wasn't exactly telepathy, either. Kyle had no word for it.

“This is that light that flashes in your eyes sometime,” Kyle pointed out.

“Yours too,” Kenny told him.

“Twelve?” Kyle asked again.

“ _A_ gender?” Kenny asked in reply.

“It's what matches my mindset, _my_ self-image of _me_ ,” Kyle stated.

“Yeah, well, I think you scared the pants off poor Korx, I mean Keith, when you did that whole walking-on-water scene at the lake,” Kenny pointed out. “And I'm not talking about the skinny-dipping, either. You were _walking on water_ , Kyle! No one's supposed to do _that_ but for Jesus!”

Kyle wasn't sure what to say.

“I liked the lake,” Kenny admitted, sounding bummed. “I didn't think I would, but it was great. Thanks for thinking of it.”

And then suddenly, they were there.

The shock of having bodies again made both of them fall to their knees, the rush of summer air filling their lungs a shock. It was as if they'd forgotten how to breathe.

“Sorry!” Kenny gasped, “Should have warned you, the transition sorta sucks!”

“So does landing on a pebble beach!” Kyle coughed.

The lake was just as they remembered it: clear and cold blue water, surrounded by tall pines. The air was crisp, and there was a campfire burning on the beach, some ways away from the tents. Only the sky was different.

Instead of being blue and full of puffy clouds, it was that swirling miasma of odd colors.

“I wondered when you'd get here,” A voice spoke up, as a form emerged from one of the tents.

At first, it seemed to be a child. A boy. A toddler, in fact. But as he drew closer, he aged up into a teenager. Thirteen, to be precise.

Just like them.

“What the...?” Kyle gasped, staring at an exact copy of himself.

“Looks just like you, doesn't he?” Kenny asked, “Bet he's got an orange jacket and a green ushanka hat, too?”

Kyle glared at Kenny, but to Kenny, this boy was another Kenny. Complete with orange parka.

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. “You seeing yourself in him?”

Kenny nodded.

“Not bad, Kyle. Or is it Eclipse?” Other-Kyle-Kenny observed, looking Kyle over, “Custom muscle tone, boyhood voice, no beard yet, no outward signs of gender? Thirteen, and technically a man now, already! Pretty good remodel job you did on yourself, Kyle. Although I'm not too sure about this haircut. You sort of blew it with the pancreas, though? Let me fix that for you!”

Kyle felt a pain in his left side, noticing that he wasn't wearing his insulin pump.

He also noticed that they were both naked, as he glanced over at Kenny. Kenny didn't seem to care, though.

Why he said it, Kyle didn't know. It just seemed to be the right thing to say as the words came out: “I had to recreate myself to fit my own sense of identity.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Other-Kyle nodded, “Stunning!”

“And brave,” Kenny offered.

“Not – _help_ ing,” Kyle growled, feeling just a bit self-conscious.

“Took you long enough, Kyle,” Other-Kyle laughed, and his laughter was oddly soothing. “So, you gonna keep this form?”

“Huh?” Kyle squeaked, as Kenny seemed to have wandered off.

“Why not something _really_ out of the ordinary?” Other-Kyle asked, as he turned into a large, colorful tortoise with three glowing eyes, then back again.

“'Eunuch' isn't out of the ordinary?” Kyle posed the question.

“Oh, ouch! The E-word! No, not really, they've been around for millennia, they just don't advertise it like they used to,” Other-Kyle informed him. “No, seriously, though? I'm impressed that you didn't run amok with your powers, once you remembered that you _had_ them!”

“What if I had?”

“Then I'd have taken them away from you,” Other-Kyle replied with a shrug. “That bit with Clyde was pretty funny, though. Poor Clyde.”

“Clyde?”

“Guess you haven't done it yet, then?” Other-Kyle shrugged.

“Sorry!”

“Don't tell _me_ , tell Clyde! Or just don't _do_ it. Oh, I fixed him, by the way. I love Clyde, you know,” Other-Kyle told him, “He's just so...so...?”

“...Clyde-ish?” Kyle helped out, as his doppelganger seemed lost for a word. Kyle was lost for what he could have done to Clyde that was so funny?

“I thought that Keith's Ribozene healed Clyde?”

“It did, but I helped,” Other-Kyle agreed.

 _Who IS this kid?!_ Kyle wondered, _And just where the heck are we?_

“Yeah. Poor boy's been though a lot. But then again, he hasn't. Thanks to you, Korx, and Kenny.”

“You mean Keith?”

“Is that what they're calling themselves now?” Other-Kyle asked. “But to answer your other worry, yes, Korx – Keith – has been here before. Didn't figure they needed to remember it all, though. Spoiler alert, you know?”

“That nonexistence thing hurt them pretty bad,” Kyle pointed out.

“Guess so?”

They waited.

Kyle noticed that there were no animal sounds: no birds singing, no frogs, no crickets, not even a fish jumping.

There was also no Kenny. He wondered where his friend had gone.

“This has been especially hard for Kenny,” Other-Kyle then spoke up, after what seemed a long time; or only a moment. Kyle couldn't be sure.

“You chose him for this?” Kyle had to ask.

“Yes.”

“Why Kenny?” Kyle also had to ask that question.

“Because he's unique. He can't die, at least for now. Whatever 'now' means,” Other-Kyle explained. “He has to have something constructive to do with his immortality, doesn't he?”

“And you don't think _that's_ cruel? What about _Mrs._ McCormick?”

Other-Kyle laughed. “Always on the defensive, aren't you, Kyle? Always sticking up for your friends? Always learning something? So tell me, Kyle, what have you learned today?”

Kyle hung his head, staring down at his bare feet. The smooth pebbles felt good beneath his soles. He thought for a long while.

Or didn't.

At some point in his deliberations, he thought about asking for (or trying to summon) some clothes, but thought better of it.

_No, if this is how I arrived here, and since this is what I am, NO!_

He didn't know if it was an eternity, or if he just popped off his answer.

“I learned that no matter what you do, or how good your intentions are, that someone always dies.”

“You _all_ die, eventually,” Other-Kyle pointed out. “Even you.”

“Kenny doesn't?”

“Kenny's different.”

“True.” Kyle thought about it some more. He paced a bit, ending up at the water's edge. The cold water felt so good on his feet. He realized that the weather was getting cooler.

_I guess this rules out Hell?_

“You're different, too, Kyle.”

“I know,” Kyle sighed.

“But haven't you already seen yourself die? Some billion years from now?”

Kyle nodded.

“You're probably the only person in history that witnessed his own death, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“And?” Other-Kyle prompted him.

“I killed Kevin Stoley, too.”

“You bastard,” Other-Kyle chuckled. “Don't worry, it'll work out for him, though.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Hmmm,” Other-Kyle mused, “I expected a bit more than _that_?”

Kyle shrugged. He stepped out ankle-deep into the water.

“All this heavy stuff, and you're thinking about Stan getting shot at school?” Other-Kyle observed. “How very Kyle-ish of you!”

“How do _you_ know?”

“I _am_ you, Kyle, remember?”

“You are _not_ me!” Kyle retorted hotly. “ _I'm_ me!”

“Along with all of the other infinite Kyles? _I'm_ not invited?”

“You're not _me!_ One of me! A Kyle, I mean!” Kyle protested.

“Created _you_ in my own image, _didn't_ I?” Other-Kyle then asked in a harsher tone, which made Kyle freeze. He certainly had not expected to hear that.

Kyle's eyes then went wide, and he felt the fuzz standing up all over his body. He laughed wryly. “You are NOT God!”

“How do _you_ know?” Other-Kyle spread his hands. “Not impressive enough for you? You Jews always were a hard sell!”

“Don't you belittle my People!” Kyle snapped, holding up a finger right under his doppelganger's nose.

Other-Kyle sighed. “Well, at least it's _some_ comfort.”

“What?” Kyle scoffed.

“That there's no hate in you, Kyle. Not anymore. Not even for Eric Cartman? That's who you were thinking of just now, right?”

“I...I don't hate him,” Kyle finally admitted, “I _pity_ him.”

“So do I. Was that why you blew his mind, and then left him sitting in juvie?”

“It's where he needs to be. At least we're safe from him now, and he's...well...maybe _he's_ safer in there, too?” Kyle explained.

“No one's gone to visit him? Not one letter, or call? You all just forget about him?”

“ _What_?” Kyle went on, “You know what he _did_ , don't you? He killed Tweek! He hurt Craig! And then Craig killed himself! Shit! We could stand here for all _Eternity_ and talk about Cartman's rap-sheet! He's a menace!”

“Yes, he killed Tweek,” Other-Kyle agreed. “But did you ever ask him why?”

“He hasn't _done_ it yet!” Kyle exclaimed. “And what justification could he possibly have for murder?!”

“So, what's that to you? You _are_ Eclipse, aren't you? Slide on up the line into your eighteen year old Eclipse-self, and ask _that_ Cartman how he liked what you did.”

“I can't, at least, not here,” Kyle mumbled, looking back at the water. Somehow, the euphoria he'd felt when he'd arisen from that water, when he'd remodeled his body, seemed so far away just then. He struggled to recall it.

And then he was sitting on a hot rock, looking around at a red, dead Earth. The nightmare of that monstrous red sun, though, was not there.

Only the miasma shone overhead.

Again, Kyle thought of Hell.

“You can come _here_ , though?”

“I was brought here,” Kyle corrected himself. Him. Whoever...

_You are NOT God!_

“When you found out that you were going to die?” Older-Kyle asked in reply, “Or when you finally accepted it?”

It was not the question that Kyle had been expecting.

“When I accepted it!” Kyle snapped. “Is that what you want from me? Me to acknowledge that I only get sixteen years?”

“I heard Tweek's song, you know,” Other-Kyle then seemed to change the subject.

“It was beautiful,” Kyle agreed.

“It was powerful. Powerful enough to obliterate the entire future Possi-verse.”

“The _what-_ now?” Kyle asked.

“All the possible outcomes. The infinite, possible futures,” Other-Kyle explained. Kyle noticed then that his double's voice seemed a bit deeper, and that he was slightly taller.

But somehow, Kyle knew what was to come.

“It has occurred. It will occur. It _must_ occur,” Kyle reasoned.

“True,” Other-Kyle agreed, and when Kyle looked at him, his face seemed more lined. And wasn't there a bit of gray at the temples?

Kyle knew that his time in this...place...had almost run out.

Time? Place?

“I prevent the crash,” Kyle explained, “And the temporal explosion sends Kenny back in time to help me become Eclipse, so that I can be the one who has to die. The one who has to break the loop.”

“It's like the snake eating his own tail, the paradox,” Other-Kyle agreed. He then took Kyle's hand, leading him along the beach. Or at least, where the beach _had_ been. Other-Kyle's hand was larger, rougher. A man leading his child.

Kyle realized that they were still in the same place, only so much later. The lake was long gone, the pebble beach ground to sand and blown away. Even the mountains had been eroded down by the years.

And Other-Kyle was now so much taller, so much grayer. His 'Jewfro' was so much thicker. Kyle thought he looked like a Grandpa. _Shouldn't he have lost his hair?_

The water of the mountain lake was cool on Kyle's feet again, and he realized that they were back at the campsite. Kenny and his older double were coming to meet them.

Other-Kenny was also older as well, holding Kenny's hand, leading him.

“So, does this mean it's over?” Kenny was asking.

“Uh, **no**!” Older-Kenny laughed, “You boys have a nice mess to clean up, still!”

“Awwwww!” Both boys groaned.

“So why'd you bring us here _this_ time?” Kenny asked.

“Everybody needs a vacation,” Older-Kenny shrugged. “ _Tell_ me you don't wanna stay here and play a while?”

“Now, now, they're teenagers, you know,” Older-Kyle added, “They don't 'play', like they used to.”

“I _could_ stay here a bit?” Kyle asked Kenny.

Kenny smiled. “Me too. It's nice.”

“We _should_ get back, though?” Kyle pointed out.

“Ever the dutiful boy,” Other-Kyle laughed, which, to Kenny, seemed to be Older-Kenny, as there was only one of Him again.

“I don't think time means anything here,” Kenny mused. “Hell, I don't think 'here' means anything here!” He poked Kyle in the tummy with his index finger. Kyle flinched and giggled a bit. “Pretty sure _we_ do, though!”

“Now, you see why I love this kid?” Other-Kyle-Kenny asked Kyle.

And Kyle smiled.

“You see,” the old man wheezed, “Only brilliant mathematicians, acid-tripping philosophers, and little children can grasp concepts like this.” He touched Kyle's smooth cheek, then Kenny's. He took their hands, placing them upon one another.

With his other hand, he reached up and plucked a sparkling bit of light from the sky, sealing it in their clasped hands.

The boys blinked, and then the old man was gone.

“You wanna go swimming?” Kenny asked.

“What?” Kyle asked, as Kenny let go of his hand. Kyle found that almost painful, which confused him.

“Swimming! It's gonna be winter soon, back home, and I'm not a polar bear,” Kenny stated, stretching himself under what passed for the sun. “And chlorinated pools just ain't the same.”

“Yeah, too much pee,” Kyle smiled.

And so they swam.

For how long, they didn't know. They simply swam. They splashed. They dived off the big rock. They nearly froze, paddling around at the stream inlet that came right off a glacier.

“Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

“What if I don't set off the chain of events that sends you back?” Kyle asked.

“Then Tweek dies,” Kenny shrugged, as they climbed up on the big rock to lay in the sun. Or, at least, the odd light that passed for the sun.

“So why couldn't I just 'eclipse' him out of the car, then?” Kyle wondered.

Kenny sighed. “You do what you _have_ to do, Kyle. All I know is that I've tried and tried, and it seemed that no matter what I did, there was always something to stop me. You know, I got to the point where I really thought that the whole damn Universe wanted Tweek dead.” Kenny paused.

Still, there were no animal sounds. Not even a breeze.

“And I could never figure out _why_ ,” Kenny concluded. “He's such a sweet kid, who sure as hell didn't deserve what he got.”

“He got Craig?” Kyle offered.

“Poor bastard!” Kenny laughed.

Kyle remembered something. “Tweek said all his teeth were back, before we left? And his tonsils, too?”

“Yeah?”

“So how'd _that_ happen, Kenny?” Kyle wondered, “What restored Tweek? I mean, Nurse Christina couldn't screw up that bad, could she?”

“No, she's quite thorough. The way I see it, the Universe owed him one,” Kenny reasoned, sounding bitter. “Or maybe it was the temporal oscillations, like Keith said?”

“Speaking of, I think Keith just walked off the job,” Kyle reminded him.

“Don't blame him-them,” Kenny sighed. “But damn, they was a pain in my ass at first! I was trying to figure out how to kill them, you know, when you trapped Keith here on New Year's.”

“Do tell?” Kyle gasped.

“Surprised?”

“At _you_? Not really,” Kyle admitted.

“You really think I could kill someone?” Kenny asked, sounding hurt.

“Yes,” Kyle responded without hesitation.

“Thanks! I think? So, were you really going to try and repair Tweek's heart?” Kenny then asked, grinning.

“Yeah.”

“You think you could have done it?”

Again, Kyle nodded. “For all I know, it _was_ me that did it.” He sighed, staring up at the strange sky. “I can't hear the others here.”

“So, why Tweek? What about everyone else? Would you have cured Clyde, if Keith hadn't?”

“Yes! Why?” Kyle sounded irritated.

“Jimmy?”

“Yes!” Kyle didn't hesitate.

“Kinda hard to explain?”

“So?!” Kyle scoffed.

“Well, you know what happened to the _last_ Jew, who went around healing the sick!” Kenny reminded him.

“I'm getting off a lot easier, though.”

“How so?” Kenny wondered.

“In the far future, where the Last Kyle took me, I saw it happen. I...he...just turned to dust and blew away,” Kyle explained.

“Yeah, about that? How'd you _get_ there? Outside your own lifetime?” Kenny wondered.

“Kevin Stoley gave an older-me a ride with a Discriminator,” Kyle shrugged. “He vanished, too.”

“Figures,” Kenny agreed, “But I don't think that was you. While you and HIM were wandering around Dead Earth, where you died, _me_ and Him were talking about just that. I think Tweek did it.”

“Did what?” Kyle sounded confused.

“Made old you and old Kevin blow away,” Kenny clarified.

“ _Tweek_? Yeah, he – I mean, old me here – mentioned that too. But how?” Kyle asked, “I mean, how does performing one song change the whole future?”

“Snowball effect, I guess,” Kenny shrugged. “Remember, in the first Timeline, Tweek never wrote that song. He never got called to do the keyboard tracks for Trent, since Trent spent his childhood in juvie, and then-” Kenny stopped.

“Then, what?” Kyle pressed him. “What happened to Trent-Prime?”

“We killed him,” Kenny answered flatly.

“We... _what_?!” Kyle gasped.

“I keep forgetting, it's your first time through, Kyle. At least, from _your_ perspective,” Kenny explained. “The way I remember it, on my first attempt – I mean, my first life – you know what I mean? OK? The initial Timeline?” Kyle nodded. “Trent got out of juvie again when we were fourteen, and he came after us. And it was _bad_! You have no fucking _clue_ how bad it was!”

“What did he do?” Kyle breathed, almost afraid to ask.

“Yeah, you wouldn't know,” Kenny mused, “Since you're not checking in with all those other Kyles all the time.” Kenny thought about it. “But then again, you all weren't Eclipse in that Timeline, so they'd not know, either.”

“I'm trying to have _some_ semblance of a normal childhood,” Kyle snorted. “We all agreed not to have spoilers, you know!”

“Leo,” Kenny simply said.

Kyle understood at once.

“Butters?”

Kenny nodded. “Just like the first time Trent got out, he came after Leo first.” He then sat up on the rock, turning his back to Kyle. “But I guess that since you went back in time and smashed Trent's balls, none of that really happened. I just wish I didn't have to remember it.”

“You remember... _all_ of it? Even the Timelines that got wiped out?” Kyle wondered, deciding to not ask what they'd done to Trent Boyette in the prime Timeline. It was enough to know that they'd killed him.

_You think I could kill someone?  
Yes._

“All _those_ lifetimes,” Kenny agreed. “I don't know if I ever told you or not. Doesn't matter. There was the first time when Tweek died, and Craig came back to school all fucked up. He couldn't hardly talk, and he didn't know most of us. Hell, he didn't even know his own _mom_! I lived that day over and over and over again, until-”

Kenny wept.

After some time, he added, “No matter what I did, it _never_ got any better. Then, go figure, I'd die and start the day over. Didn't take long to notice that every time I died and came back, I came back to a Craig that was in worse shape. And I tried _so_ hard, Kyle! I tried so god-damn _hard_ to get out to 285 to stop them!”

And Kyle realized that, despite all that they'd done, all the lives that had been saved or changed for the better, that Kenny McCormick was still carrying a huge burden of guilt over his failures.

“But you _didn't_ fail, Kenny!” Kyle told him, “It might have taken a while, but now that you've … created … me? I guess? It's all gonna work out!”

“DON'T YOU GET IT, KYLE?” Kenny cried again, “Now I've killed _you!_ Everywhere I go, Death follows!”

“No, you _have_ n't,” Kyle assured him, firmly deciding that he did not want to know about those other aborted futures of Kenny's. “When we set this thing into motion, I'm going to become … _all_ of us. Including the ones that make it through. Literally, Kenny, when I tune into The Kyle Collective, it's just like the Borg on _**Star Trek**_. Or, rather, it _will_ be. All across time, there's infinite Kyles in every single bit of time. And when I go Full-Eclipse, there's only ONE Kyle. And HE knows everything that has, is, and _will_ happen.”

“And what if you die?” Kenny had to ask him. “You expect me to go on - with _that_ on my conscience, too?”

Kyle shrugged. Kenny looked angrily at him. “If I know you, you'll just leap back and try it again. It wouldn't be the first time you've done it.”

“What?!”

“I know you can leap at will, Kenny,” Kyle told him. “I figured it out, when you mentioned a spare lifetime. That time you came back – THIS time – and left Butters there out front of the school? That wasn't from me creating the temporal explosion that sends you back that first time. This is your _second_ try – the intentional try to prevent the crash. Third time's the charm, you know!” Kyle smiled.

For a moment, Kenny just sat there, stunned.

Then he spun around on the rock and grabbed Kyle in a tight hug.

“I just want it to end, Kyle,” he cried. “I've been a kid for what feels like forever! I just want to grow up, have a life of my own, and...and...”

“Die?” Kyle supplied helpfully.

“Yes,” Kenny finally confirmed it.

“Kenny-”

“ _Please_ don't tell me it doesn't end with death, Kyle. I fucking know that already, OK? But is it too much to ask for even a little bit of nonexistence?” Kenny wondered. “I'm _so_ tired, Kyle. No matter how much sleep I get, or even if I don't do shit all day. I'm _tired_.”

“Your soul is old, Kenny. Maybe even ancient,” Kyle reasoned. After all, that seemed to be what he did best. “I'm not sure I can heal that.”

“Physician, heal yourself,” Kenny chuckled ironically.

“I don't know if I can, Kenny,” Kyle admitted. “See, the more I do this thing, the more tired _I_ get. Right before we got sucked into here, I was just about dead on my feet, from going back to record Tweek's song. Never mind the night before, with Pete. The more power I use, the more exhausting it is.”

“I didn't think God got tired?” Kenny smirked at him.

Kyle looked as if he'd just heard the most vile, blasphemous words ever.

“I'M NOT GOD!” Kyle snapped, “Don't you ever, EVER say that again!”

“Created _you_ in His own image, didn't he? _He_ told me that, too, a little bit ago, at the lake.” Kenny decided to drop that one on his friend.

Kyle snorted. “Don't even go there! That Kyle-Knockoff was NOT God!”

“OK, Brainiac? Who _was_ He then?” Kenny countered.

“How the hell should _I_ know?” Kyle held out his hands, genuinely confused.

“Because you know everything!” Kenny retorted.

“I do NOT!” Kyle protested, sounding just like he always did when he argued with Cartman. “I only know what the other Kyles-”

“Gotcha,” Kenny smirked again.

“You _ass_ hole!” Kyle grinned, as he finally got it.

“You know, for a metaphysical, transcendental, Omnipotent Being, you're kinda slow on the uptake?” Kenny laughed, and Kyle decided that it was worth it to see his friend laughing.

“And you're pretty smart, come to think of it, for a plain old Immortal,” Kyle reminded him.

“Duh? I've had three lifetimes to learn everything,” Kenny threw up his hands. “Hell, I went from being a flunkie to a C-student, then to an honor roll student; now I'm Hermione-fucking-Granger or something!”

“Well, you've _been_ a Princess before,” Kyle shrugged. “When we get back, I'm sure I could figure out how to turn you into a _real_ one?” Kyle teased him.

Kenny looked horrified.

“Don't - you - dare!” He gasped, looking sideways at Kyle. “You wouldn't?” Kenny clenched his legs shut and covered himself with his hands.

Kyle didn't answer.

“You do, and I'll...” Kenny paused. “Shit!”

“What?”

“I was gonna say I'd kick you in the nuts 'til they fell off, but you already agendered yourself!” Kenny complained.

“Why'd we ever do that? Play that 'kick 'em in the nuts' game, when we were little?” Kyle wondered.

“I dunno, we could have really hurt each other!” Kenny cringed.

“We _did_ hurt each other, remember? That was the whole point!” Kyle reminded him, and they laughed at that for a while.

“Guess you don't have to worry about _that_ anymore?” Kenny snickered.

Time passed, or didn't.

The two of them just sat there, “'membering”.

They even “'membered the Member-berries.

“God, we've had such a fucked up childhood!” Kyle realized.

“Yeah, but I think we've made it better for Ike and his gang,” Kenny stated.

Kyle then told him about the day that he'd met up with the younger boys at Tweek's shoppe, and how he'd given Teddy the golf club of The High Jew Elf. “He had a green chullo hat.”

“Yeah, that was Teddy Hastings,” Kenny agreed. “So, you set a new pack of eight year olds off on a grand adventure?”

“Yeah, they were going after Fillmore, and 'the Artifact',” Kyle smiled.

“That fucking stick, and then our Civil War,” Kenny 'membered. “I gotta give that New Kid one thing, he sure could fart!”

“You ever wonder where _they_ moved to?” Kyle asked.

“Nope. The last damn thing we need is another time traveler to complicate things,” Kenny said firmly.

“You know what we need to do when we get back?” Kyle asked.

“What?”

“Come back here, I mean, the real lake, before it gets too cold,” Kyle smiled. He stood up and stretched, realizing that he wasn't tired anymore. “We should bring Pete.”

“Pete? Camping? Seriously?” Kenny scoffed.

“The Goth Kids dumped him the other three times, didn't they?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah, and then Firkle started hanging out with Ike,” Kenny added, realizing that he was staring. He looked away. Kyle caught him.

“You're not used to me yet?” Kyle asked.

“No, it's not that,” Kenny sighed. “Kyle, you need to know something. I lied to Stan earlier.”

“About what?” Kyle wondered.

_Didn't you?_

“You.”

“Me?!”

“When I said that you might have been a train-wreck of a loner, in those other futures? But that you were OK down the line? I lied. Damn! It's just that...it's been so long, Kyle, since I've seen Stan like this. The Stan that I was so used to? Talk about a train-wreck!” Kenny made a whistling sound. “I mentioned it earlier? When I asked if you'd ever killed yourself?”

“I already know,” Kyle told him. Kenny looked sharply at him. “It just came back to me. Last night, when we rescued Pete from the water tower? I pulled the alternate future memories out of Stan's head and used them on Pete. I showed him how he ended up dead. I wasn't careful enough, and I saw how Stan turned out.” Kyle paused, looking out across the still, blue lake towards the glacial stream that fed it. “I know how he treated me,” Kyle admitted. “I didn't mean to do it. I feel like I fucking violated him!”

“Don't feel too bad for _that_ Stan,” Kenny assured him, “He was – won't be – an asshole! He treated you like shit, Kyle, _when_ I come from. It was painfully obvious to everyone that you still loved him like the best friends you guys used to be, but that he couldn't have given a shit about you.” Kenny waited for a reply. When Kyle said nothing, just standing there staring, Kenny added: “He was there when you woke up this morning, wasn't he?”

Kyle nodded.

And then it was his turn to cry.

How long it took Kyle to cry it out, they weren't sure. It didn't matter. Kenny thought that it might have taken longer than he had, though. But he didn't care. He'd figured that he'd never been as attached to anyone as the old Stan and Kyle were, and that he didn't want to know how the end of a relationship like that would feel.

 _I know how he treated me,_ Kyle had said, and Kenny decided that this Kyle – his Kyle – did not need to know about how Stan had drank himself to death in one future. Kyle didn't need to know that he'd been the one who'd found Stan dead in the garden shed at the cemetery.

At least, Kenny hoped that he didn't know.

And Kyle certainly didn't need to know that in the last aborted future, that Stan had finally had enough of Kyle. Kyle didn't need to know that the best friend that he'd ever had, had beaten him up, humiliated him in front of everyone at school, and that the hurt had been so bad that Kyle had gone to Stark's Pond, alone, that night.

 _He doesn't need to know that I found him, sitting on the dock, frozen to death,_ Kenny decided.

 _Not unless the other Kyles tell him,_ The Other spoke up in Kenny's mind.

 _You shut up! They can't know, because he wasn't Eclipse then!_ Kenny ordered him, and, surprisingly, he did.

“C'mon, what'r you cryin' about?” Kenny encouraged him. “We've fixed Stan. He'll be fine now!”

“I...I know,” Kyle sniffled. “I just w-wanted it to be, I mean, that time I...I kissed him? You know?” Kyle fumbled.

“You wanted it to be him?” Kenny grinned, tousling Kyle's hair.

“Yeah,” Kyle admitted.

“Kyle, the first thing you have to know about love, and lust, for that matter!” Kenny laughed, “Is that you don't pick who to fall in love with. It just happens. Hell, at first, I thought it was love every time I saw a set of titties go by! But you know what?”

“What?”

“It wasn't,” Kenny clarified. “See, _that_ was lust. That's different.”

“It is?” Kyle wondered.

“Tell me you didn't just _say_ that?” Kenny gasped in mock horror. He cocked an eyebrow at Kyle. “You just _said_ it, didn't you?” Kenny rolled his eyes. “Only ME!” He shouted at the sky. “I have to explain love versus lust to a _eunuch_?”

Kenny started over.

“OK, you see someone, and you get this feeling? Down … there?” He pointed at his middle. “No? You know the phrase 'Stop thinking with your dick'?”

“No.”

“Shit,” Kenny groaned. “Even before you...transformed?”

“Nope.”

Kenny decided to be a bit more crude. “You see someone who's hot, and you get a stiffie?”

“Nuh-uhh,” Kyle shook his head.

Kenny palmed his face. “Geeze, where's Jimmy when I need him? OK, I was a pervy little kid, right?” He asked, and Kyle quickly nodded. “Right! I was like, when I'd think about someone hot, usually girls, I'd think, 'Man, I'd like to stick my dick in that!' But that's not love, OK?”

“Uhm, OK?” Kyle shrugged in confusion, “If you say so.”

“Wow, you really _are_ mentally wired to be asexual, aren't you?” Kenny smirked. “Never mind, then. OK, but say you meet someone, and one day, even though you might know them already, you start to think about them differently. A lot. Pretty soon, they're _all_ you think about. You get this funny feeling, like hunger pangs, only...jumpier?”

“Yeah?” Kyle seemed to perk up.

“Good! Progress!” Kenny beamed. “You get this tingly feeling all over, too? Your chest feels funny? Sometimes you get kinda warm inside? But if you break out in a hot sweat, say, in January, now that's lust!”

“No sweats,” Kyle confirmed, “But all the other stuff, yeah!”

“OK, _that's_ the one you can't force, the warm and tingly one,” Kenny confirmed. “ _That's_ love, Kyle. It comes naturally, and when you feel it, the person you feel it for suddenly changes.”

“Like they're the only thing you really care about?” Kyle asked, “Like, making sure they're OK is all that matters to you? And you feel sick when they're not there?”

“Bingo!” Kenny slapped his back. “And you get this dumb look on your face, kinda like Craig's had since we were like ten? Well, trust me, _you've_ had that look lately!”

“Thanks,” Kyle grumbled.

“Yeah, well, you can't force that one at will, and you can't project it on someone you choose,” Kenny went on. “Look, I know you wanted it to be Stan, but it doesn't work like that, Kyle. You can love him to the point of being willing to die for him, but that's not being IN love with him.”

“That part I get,” Kyle agreed, “That's called agape. It's the love that's-”

“I _know_ what it is,” Kenny interrupted, before the speech could take off. “But see, Kyle, I don't think you're _ever_ gonna know what lust is. I mean, you're not physically equipped for it, now, and well – neither is Keith,” Kenny concluded awkwardly.

Kyle's face went very, very pink.

“So, I'm in love...with...Keith?”

“Dude, everyone saw you two at your Bar Mitzvah,” Kenny reminded him. “Yeah, you're in love, trust me.”

“Oh! I thought I was sick!” Kyle gasped.

“That clenches it!” Kenny smiled. Then he made a confused face. “So, we all clear on this now?”

“You feel that way about Butters?” Kyle asked in reply.

“Yeah, I do,” Kenny admitted without pause. “But on the other hand, I also get the added benefit of good old fashioned lust!”

“So, lust is like...?”

“Remember Tammy?” Kenny reminded him.

“Oh, right!” Kyle finally seemed to get it. “How'd we get on this subject again?”

“You were pining away over Stan, after you picked his brain,” Kenny told him.

“I...I worry that something we're gonna to have to do,” Kyle fretted, struggling for the words, “Might end up hurting Keith. What if we wipe them out of existence again?”

“I don't think we can, now that they've got the Discriminator charged up,” Kenny theorized. “And if we do, they'll just come here, I think.”

Kyle sighed.

Back on the beach, the campfire had gone out. The tents had been struck.

“I guess it's time to go?” Kenny pointed out.

“Guess so,” Kyle agreed, looking down at the inviting water.

They reached for one another's hands.

“Nothing left to do, but jump,” Kenny advised.

And so they did that.

*

“So, Tweek's gonna be OK?” Clyde was asking, “But what's with Craig? Is he sick, too?”

Kyle and Kenny found themselves standing at the elevator doors at the hospital again.

They blinked.

“Are you guys OK?” Token asked, “You kinda blipped out for a minute there?”

“Fine? Yeah! OK. Sure!” Kyle and Kenny both answered at cone.

“Well, we'd'a been here sooner, but I had talk Clyde into coming,” Token added.

“I don't like hospitals,” Clyde whimpered, looking around as if he thought that someone were about to grab him.

“How's come?” Butters asked, just before his own set of alternate memories kicked in. “Well, uhm, I mean, you don't have't'a tell us, Clyde!”

“Seriously, Butters?” Clyde held out his hands and rolled his eyes. “I had cancer when I was little? After what Kenny said? Everyone knows!”

“Oh, yeah, right...I 'member, tha's right,” they all mumbled in agreement.

“I get checkups twice a year ever since, and I don't like it!” Clyde snapped, “OK?”

“OK, it's OK, Clyde,” Kyle assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Clyde calmed down at once. “But yeah, Tweek's gonna be fine, too. He just collapsed from exhaustion at organ practice.” He ushered Clyde into the elevator.

“I've never heard music like that,” Token pointed out on the way down, “Was that a digital remix or something? I mean, Tweek _couldn't_ have played it like that?”

Keith was giving them a suspicious look. “He could, if he'd slipped out of temporal phase alignment. That was probably my fault. But I don't think he'll be able to do it again.”

“Oh!” They all seemed to buy it, especially Token and Clyde.

On the way out, Stan pulled Kyle aside. “We have another problem,” he whispered in Kyle's ear.

“What now?” Kyle groaned.

“Craig's _car_? Fully restored? You missed that?!”

“Aw, shit!” Kyle grimaced. He told Kenny.

“Aw, shit!” Kenny agreed, “It wasn't supposed to even be drivable until January!”

“Yeah, your futures just ain't what they used to be!” Keith grinned. “My world, welcome to it!”

Kenny rolled his eyes.

“So, you giving up now?” Kyle flatly asked Keith.

“Hold on,” Clyde cut in, “You've been trying to change things, Keith?”

Keith nodded. “I think there's some stuff you guys need to know.”

“I thought you said that the less people what knew, the better?” Kenny reminded Keith.

“Well, I thought it was pretty obvious that Keith being here was going to change their future,” Token put in. “It makes sense.”

Clyde looked up from unlocking his bike. “That shot you gave me, Keith? You said it-”

“Told ya, the future needs you, Clyde,” Keith reminded him.

Clyde then turned to Kenny. “And all that stuff you told us? All that stuff you were right about? Like me, and Timmy, and Jimmy? Something's fishy here,” Clyde added, “What with Bradley getting sick, and all? I heard him on the bus, telling Kevin that stuff like cobalt and time travel makes him sick! Now Tweek'n'Craig are sick, and Craig has that big blue meteorite!”

“I had some inside info, OK?” Kenny told Clyde, deciding that Clyde probably wouldn't believe that Kenny was from a possible future as well.

“We kinda all do,” Kyle added, “And yeah, like Keith said, you guys should probably know some of that.”

“You're all bein' really weird lately,” Clyde told them. “Oh my God! There's not like, a _Terminator_ coming after you, is there?” He gaped at Keith.

“Clyyyyyde,” Token groaned, “Just...?”

“No, but I made some messes I need clean up,” Keith assured him.

“It's gonna have to wait,” Kyle decided, as he began tuning into The Collective again. “There's someone else I have to talk to first. We can talk about this later?”

They all agreed to that.

“What are you planning?” Kenny asked, as Token and Clyde rode off.

“I have to go see Cartman,” Kyle replied.

“WHAT?!” Butters gasped.

“Why?” Stan wondered. “We _finally_ got rid of him?”

“Fellas, in temporal mechanics, you can never be one hundred percent sure that you got rid of someone,” Keith informed them.

“Why don't you just go back in time, Kyle, and knock off Cartman, like, in kindergarten?” Stan asked. “Wouldn't that solve a lot of problems?”

“It'd create one hell of a mess,” Kenny sighed. “And not to be selfish, but I'd rather continue on from _this_ point, the way things are. Those other futures weren't too kind to some of us, remember?”

“Uhm, besides – what would _this_ Cartman, here and now know?” Butters wondered.

Kyle was looking sly, though. “You and Stan remember your alternate futures?” He asked, and they both nodded. “So what if Cartman does too? If that one version of him grew up to run his own time travel company, don't you think that after being wiped out – by his younger self – and then brought back somehow, that he wouldn't have taken some precautions?”

Stan seemed to be thinking about it. “So some older Cartman might have done to him, what you guys did to Butters and me?”

“Exactly,” Kyle agreed.

“Our would-be assassin Cartman didn't seem too cautious the other night,” Keith put in.

“It was too easy,” Kenny snapped his fingers. “I mean, an older Eclipse showed up, and just busted him?”

“No,” Stan agreed, “I'm with Kenny.”

“Those future events are probably fucked by now,” Keith spoke up, “Ever since Tweek recorded that song, and the graphs all went off-”

“And _that's_ why,” Kyle cut him off. “With that kind of power, Cartman would only become more of a megalomaniac! We know that the future Tuckers were key to the whole Drone program, and such?” He looked at Keith.

“The Cartman I remember, or will remember,” Stan offered, “Was pretty mundane, though?”

“Me too!” Butters agreed. “I mean, his mom wouldn't even let him drive!”

“True,” Kenny agreed.

“We can't even be sure, even though we remember it, that our Assassin-Cartman even got busted now,” Keith cautioned them. “I mean, with what happened to the graph?” He repeated.

“You said it was old data?” Kenny asked.

“I was updating,” Keith shrugged, “When I got it recharged. Computers have come a long way in a thousand years, you know. Look at just the last twenty, for you guys?”

“Yeah, and we've been, like, kids for those twenty years, haven't we?” Stan asked.

Keith nodded. “Told you, South Park's a temporal nightmare! Ever since the meteor hit out on 285, a couple hundred years from now, that is. Hell, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that there's fractures in time floating around this place like icebergs at sea!”

“I have to see Cartman,” Kyle repeated. “ I have to know what he knows. But I'll have to consult with...me...first.”

“The Council of Kyles?” Kenny grinned. “So you can be the Kyle-est Kyle there is?”

“Oh, don't _even_!” Stan exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan.

*

Early that evening, Kyle subtly planted some ideas into the minds of his family. Ike went to Georgie's (Firkle's) house for dinner, and their parents decided for a night out. Kenny and Butters went home. With them out of the way, and Keith watching the Tuckers to make sure that no one found the car, Kyle locked himself in his room. He covered the windows, then lay down on his bed. He concentrated on blocking out all physical stimuli.

 _I need you guys,_ Kyle thought, carefully excluding any of the Kyles from before he'd become Eclipse.

He found himself standing at the side of Route 285, along with several other versions of himself. In both directions, the line of Kyles stretched to the horizons.

The problem was, was that all of them looked pretty young. Some wore hats; most didn't. Some were dressed in orange and green. Many weren't. But whether they wore Jewfros or buzzcuts, they were all Kyles.

Somewhere down the line, down the highway that led to Denver, Kyle thought that there might be more of them. Taller. Older.

But they were indistinct, insubstantial – as if their very existence was questionable.

He blinked, but couldn't be sure of what he was seeing. He sensed nothing from them. There appeared to be a dust storm brewing somewhere down the line.

“Looks like none of us made it past this point?” Some-Kyle spoke up.  
“OK, who's the wise guy?”  
“Yeah, the hell are we doing here now?”  
“That'd be me,” Kyle-Prime spoke up.  
“Don't look,” Yet another Kyle covered a smaller Kyle's eyes with his hands.  
“Guess that explains that?” Kyle-Prime observed.  
“Who made you boss?”  
“ _Me_ , because I called this meeting!” Kyle-Prime replied.  
“You've realized the paradox?” The older ones all asked.  
“Yes,” Kyle-Prime agreed.  
“Are we sure it ends here, then?”  
“Sure looks like it!”  
“It's _going_ to end here, yes,” Kyle-Prime confirmed, looking up and down the way at what seemed to be parked traffic on the highway.  
“The uncertainty of what we're going to do could even change things?”  
“We all need to be in agreement on this one.”  
“We already are,” another Kyle's voice called out.

Kyle-Prime saw him then, appearing to zoom up as if someone were cranking a zoom lens on him as he stepped off the shoulder and onto the highway.

This Kyle seemed almost insubstantial, and his Eclipse costume was tattered. Half of his mask was torn away, his cape torn, and although he looked badly beaten, there was no blood. Bits and pieces of him were pixelating in and out, and it was obvious that he was losing cohesion.

“Your the one who's been preventing us – me – from seeing this?” Kyle demanded of him.

Eclipse nodded. “This is _it_ , Gang,” he spoke, his voice raspy. “We did it.” He pointed up the way, and Kyle felt as if they were all being zoomed away.

When he got his bearings, Kyle saw the semi. It was frozen in time, just like the rest of the traffic, but clearly veering off the highway and onto the shoulder. The trailer was coming around as if to jackknife, and headed for its underbody was Red Racer.

Kyle-Prime saw the black tire marks on the pavement, just as they'd been each time he'd seen them before.

The back wheels of the trailer were headed off the pavement, blocking both lanes.

“Craig, you dumbass!” Kyle-Prime couldn't help but blurt out.

“The Craig Maneuver works _this_ time,” that other Eclipse told them all. “He's able to whip the car, skid, then accelerate to cut underneath it. With a little help?” Eclipse smiled.

Kyle-Prime remembered Kenny describing it, having said that Red Racer needed just a bit more power to do it.

_He could see a taller Keith sneaking into the Tucker's garage, the Discriminator on his wrist glowing blue. The bald teen seemed to leave a short vapor trail as they moved, out of temporal phase, foiling Thomas Tucker's security system. Keith was pulling the tarp back, opening the hood of the car, and installing a small device inside the main fuel line. It looked like a filter of some type, but it glowed blue as Keith shoved a small shard of blue crystal into it: The shard that Stan had removed from Timmy's wheelchair, from when Kenny had borrowed it for his broken leg._

“Korx had one job,” Eclipse said in a thin, faint voice that sounded far-away.

“Keith. And they failed to do it,” Kyle said, wondering how much of a huge gamble his adopted brother must be taking. “Keith was supposed to get rid of me. Their people knew I was coming, didn't they?”

“Not before Kenny, no. God, I _hate_ temporal mechanics,” Eclipse groaned. “It's the infinite chicken-and-the-egg paradox!”

And then the silent, awed row of Kyles began to thin out. As they watched, the line seemed to condense from both directions, merging, until only the two of them were left.

Kyle looked to see Liane Cartman's tan minivan off on the shoulder, heading for the median, but seeming to have avoided the crash, and continuing on.

Behind the wheel sat nearly-seventeen year old Eric Cartman.

And Kyle knew.

“We are _yet_ to be!” Eclipse then said, smiling.

 _Which one am I now?_ Kyle wondered, reaching for Eclipse's hand.

But that taller, battered Eclipse only smiled, as he finally lost cohesion and blew away into nothing.

“ _All_ of them!” Kyle then said aloud, turning to look up at the sky, where a blue fireball hung frozen in the swirling miasma of unknowable colors.

Still, he knew.

He looked back down at the tall grass alongside the highway.

 _Trust me, Kyle, you do_ not _want to look in the grass!_

But it was only grass, bent, but green.

There was no red to be seen.

Kyle walked up to Red Racer.

In the passenger seat, Tweek had curled into a ball and was almost down in the floorboard. Pondering what he had done/would do, Kyle made to touch the door handle. His hand passed through the roofline as he steadied himself on it, though. He bent down for a better look.

Behind the wheel sat Craig Tucker. His face was frozen in concentration, one hand on the wheel, the other on the shifter in position for third gear. His right foot had the accelerator slammed to the floor, his left foot just coming off of the clutch. The tachometer was nearing 70-RPMx100, probably more than the engine could take.

_No, this is the rebuild. This is the hopped-up turbo setup!_

Glancing back, Kyle saw frozen tendrils of smoke coming off the new back tires. Frozen blue flames protruded from the tailpipes.

Kyle glanced back at Craig, noting the sparse goatee, the pierced ears, and the trendy haircut. On the sleeves of his blue jacket were the patches Kyle remembered: the gold hash marks, the Japanese symbol, and of course, the pride flag. On the breast was the _**Star Trek**_ communicator pin.

He wore no yellow poofball hat.

Kyle stood alone on the highway.

He turned to go.

Standing before him was the cemetery.

Kyle's eyes instantly moved to stare at the spot that they all knew so well.

The place where none of them had been in so long.

Atop the hill, the white statue of the weeping boy angel was turning to dust and blowing away.

He glanced at the gardener's shed, and as he turned back, the angel was gone.

In its place was a simple tombstone, engraved with the Star of David in front of the sun. It read: KYLE BROFLOVSKI.

“So be it,” Eclipse's choral voice echoed across the landscape, “We've won!”

 


	37. Eric Cartman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle comes "back to himself," and must decided which - and when - of the Kyles that he'll be. First, he revisits memories of "South Parks Past". Knowing that he can just go straight to the end, he decides to prolong things, by visiting an old frenemy first. Things go, of course, slightly off the rails.  
> I decided that even though I can't stand Cartman, it was time to give him a chapter and a little bit of fun. I've been a really wicked person to him in this tale, and I've enjoyed every moment of it! ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming down to it, Folks. This behemoth of a tale, which would make a doorstop if printed and bound, is almost over. The last chapters are written, and in second edit of this posting. There will be 40. I want to say thanks to everyone who stayed with us, and offer an image of my idea of what Eclipse looks like in full "power" mode.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**37**

**Eric Cartman**

*****

_I used my magic age_  
as if it were a wand.  
And never saw the waste  
and emptiness beyond.  
“Yesterday, When I was Young” - Roy Clark 1969

*****

****

Kyle Broflovski wasn't sure what lay beyond his bedroom door. As he stood in the silent, dark room, he wasn't even sure what lay within.

He'd seen it.

He'd finally seen the conclusion.

The block put in place by the Eclipse from Route 285 had finally been broken.

Kyle knew.

Other than that he was in his room, knowing _where_ he was, Kyle had no idea _when_ he was. Memories came to him. He could have still been in the eighth grade. He could've been sixteen. He remembered his sixteenth birthday party, his driver's license, and opening the small present that contained the keys to his mom's old VW Jetta.

_It's MY birthday, and YOU get the new car, Ma?_

For all he knew, those keys could be sitting on his desk just then.

He might even have to drive Ike to school, where they'd meet up with Georgie. Where those other two younger boys in blue and green played on the playground.

He remembered his childhood. He'd kicked Ike at the bus stop. Aliens had taken Ike, and Cartman had an eighty-foot satellite dish sticking out of his butt.

They were going to find out who Cartman's father was, but instead just watched Terrance & Phillip.

There was the trip to Costa Rica, and then the concert with Kenny G and the Brown Note.

Kyle had become that transcendental superbeing, when they'd been stealing Tooth Fairy money, and Mr. Hankey was back for Christmas, proving that Kyle hadn't been crazy.

Butters' mom had tried to murder him, and then Kenny had died. Only this time, he hadn't come back. They were hanging out with Butters now.

They'd fired Butters, though, and were doing interviews for a fourth friend. Tweek won, and Ms. Choksondik had died. The Sea People had evolved, but then nuked themselves. Kenny had come back at Christmas.

Earth was an intergalactic reality TV show, and Gary the Mormon kid had moved to town. They had to go to Canada at Christmas to rescue Ike. The Goobacks had come back in time, because the future was so bad. But they'd all changed things, and the Refugees had just faded away.

They were having good times with weapons, until Kenny had nearly put Butters' eye out with a ninja star. And Cartman's stupid Christmas story about Woodland Critters?

Mr. Garrison had gotten a sex change, and Kyle had become an African-American basketball player. That all hadn't gone so well, and they'd stolen a killer whale from the aquarium to send him home.

Chef had left, but he'd come back, only to get killed by a bear and a cougar. But Keith had changed that. Chef was fine. They'd played Warcraft for ages. Stan was coaching a little kids' hockey team.

Mr. Marsh had used the N-word on TV. The girls had made a list, and Kyle had tried to burn down the school.

Cartman had given Kyle AIDS, they'd been cured, and Butters was a Vampire Kid.

The Coon and Mysterion had shown up, and they'd decided to be superheroes. The water park had exploded from too much pee. Kyle knew who Mysterion was.

They'd written the most disgusting book ever, and then BP Oil had summoned up Cthulhu. Bradley Biggle was an alien, and Kenny was Immortal.

Then there was the Human Cent-i-pad debacle, and Kenny had been sent off to Greeley when his parents had been busted for meth.

Clyde's mom had died on the toilet. They'd gone ziplining, and played Sarcastiball. Obama had become President, and the town had gone nuts.

Informative murder porn was on TV, and Black Friday had come. The Fighters of Zaron had invaded the mall, and then decided to just play with a stick. Some New Kid had moved to town.

Their start-up company idea had failed, and the holograms were going nuts. Everything seemed to be online now. The living room was dying.

The Ads had tried to take over, and PC Principal had come to town. Tweek and Craig were the talk of the town in Yaoi art. No one was sure if they were gay or not, but the Mayor said that Craig was. South Park was expanding.

Internet trolls had gotten out of control. There was going to be war with Denmark. Kyle's own father was behind it all. And they'd all blown up the Internet.

There was the Heidi Turner fiasco. Tweek and Craig were definitely gay. Mr. Garrison was president, and he'd nuked Toronto, Canada. Ike was pissed. “Put It Down.” Yep, 'Creek' was definitely a thing.

Kenny had saved Halloween. Amazon had come to town. They'd had a bike parade. Butters and his fabulous peacock bike.

And yet somehow, they'd been in the fourth grade. Stan had turned 10. Somehow, finally, they'd all moved on. President Jenner was in her second term.

Junior High. Things had really started to fall apart then. Kyle understood what Stan had been coping with, as their friendship dissolved. Kenny was a loner. Cartman was still an asshole. Butters was just kind of there, as usual.

Kyle found himself alone.

High school and driver's licenses. He had gotten his mom's old Jetta for his sixteenth birthday. Stan had the old family Jeep. Kenny was working at City Wok, and only had his bike. They didn't talk much anymore. Cartman was still such an immature ass, that he wasn't allowed to learn to drive.

Craig's dad had brought home a dilapidated old 1977 Corvette when they'd been kids, and Craig had finally finished restoring it. He called it Red Racer. He and Tweek were pretty serious.

Rumors abounded that Mysterion was still out and about. Somewhere in the back of his closet, Kyle's old Kite costume was probably mildewing.

But wasn't Kenny acting very strange lately? Kyle's memories became foggy. Kenny had committed suicide in the high school Auto Mechanics garage, and that was where things had seemed to have taken a left turn.

Or gone into full reverse.

Kenny knew things. Things he shouldn't know.

Kyle knew things that he knew had never happened.

It _hadn't_ all fallen apart in junior high.

And then the fight with Stuart McCormick and Creepy Facebook Guy. Kyle had filled in for Kenny as Mysterion, and things had really started to go south. Professor Chaos had come back from the Dark Side.

It was Hanukkah, and things were changing further. His friends celebrated it with him. Kyle had seen the dead boy: Teddy Hastings.

Korx was back, and time was changing.

It was New Year's at Tweek's shoppe.

Eclipse.

Trent. Pip. Georgie. Terrance. Chef. All the others...

The trip to the mountain lake, and the full realization of what he was.

Kyle's hand hovered above the doorknob.

Outside was the future.

The new one.

 _The old one, where nothing went wrong,_ Kyle reminded himself. _Tomorrow is yesterday is tomorrow,_ he told himself.

Junior high. High school, and all the things that went with it. Driving. Relationships. Planning their futures.

All of the changes that they'd made coalesced into a sensible stream of memory.

Memories of the future.

Memories that stopped with a vision of himself in an explosion of blue.

“So be it.”

_The future just ain't what it used to be._

Kyle opened the door.

As Eclipse, he knew that he could go, could be, any of the Kyle's out there. A thought, a step, and he would be there.

Not that he wasn't already there.

He could be out on 285, ending it.

Three years, in a single thought – gone in a flash?

No.

He knew where and when he wanted to go.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

The light from the hallway spilled in, and he saw the black glove on his hand. The backs were padded, and his forearms were encased in armor. He felt the cape moving behind him as his black-booted feet carried him out into the corridor. He felt the heavily stocked gadget belt at his waist, and cowl over his head.

Eclipse.

“Upgraded,” Kyle realized, looking up and down the hallway.

No one else was home.

An infinity of Kyles – of Eclipses – took that first step in the future.

“So, you going alone?” A familiar voice then asked.

 _Alone? Are they serious?_ Any number of Eclipses thought.  
 _Can we keep it down a bit, guys?  
What, you don't want permanent déjà vu?_

Eclipse turned to see Keith standing there, dressed in his usual yellow outfit. Blue light shone from the Temporal Discriminator on his wrist. No, not 'his' - 'Theirs'.

The runaway Drone then took off the yellow coat, revealing a lighter sky blue jacket. Kevin Stoley's old jacket, red mittens, and oddly enough, Craig Tucker's old, faded yellow poofball chullo hat. The ball was flat.

Kyle extended a hand, and Keith took it. Eclipse pulled them into a hug, never intending to let them go again. One thought filled his mind, and he didn't care if it stayed private or not. He hoped it didn't.

_I love you!_

“It wasn't supposed to happen like this,” Keith whispered, “Drones aren't supposed to be able to f-”

“Shut up,” Eclipse whispered back, the lower half of his mask vanishing as he pulled the last Time Refugee into a passionate kiss. “You have to stay,” Eclipse added. “Please stay!”

But of course, Eclipse knew that Keith would.

“I've got nowhere, or no-when, else to go,” Keith shrugged.

“You're _still_ here?” Eclipse observed, holding them tightly.

“I came from the initial Timeline, remember?” Keith reminded him. “That's all put back now, I _think_. They should be fine, and with the power core here at Craig's, they can't mess us up again.” They seemed to know what Eclipse was thinking. “They're all still here, too. All the others. Like Chef and Pip, I mean.”

“You're using the Discriminator?”

“Full bore, as Toolshed would say,” Keith smiled, holding up their hand. “I don't have the powers that you do, though, Kyle. I dunno what's gonna happen now. There's no power core in my time, and they can't call for help, either. It's all such a mess. But I think if Tweek lives, then Craig will be OK too. It'll all work out. J.C. Tucker, and then his kid, Clyde, and then-”

“I still have to go,” Eclipse sighed.

“Yes. I know.”

“I don't know _when_ to go, though,” Eclipse admitted. “What happens if I jump into the Kyle who's already in high school?”

“You'll remember it all, no matter when,” Keith assured him. “Everything's in place. Doesn't _matter_ when you go. From my perspective, you already did it, Kyle.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you told me already,” Keith smiled.

“You sure that 'me' is still there?” Eclipse smiled back, and he instantly knew that 'he' was. “I love you,” that choral voice assured Keith.

“I love you, too, Kyle,” Keith smiled back. “And I'll be waiting, right here, _whenever_ you decide to come back to me.”

Eclipse let go of Keith, turning to begin walking down the hallway. As he descended the stairs, though, the décor of the house was replaced by swirling images of what Eclipse knew were things to come. As he looked around, it was all there. He recalled it in detail, as he'd surely lived it already.

It was the future that was what it should 'be'.

It was the future that _would_ be.

But there was something that he had to do. Someone else that he had to see.

As the Broflovski house spun away into those myriad images, Eclipse found himself reaching for another's hand: a hand that stuck out from an orange sleeve.

Orange.

And then his feet were on firm ground again. Smooth pebbles crunched under his boots as the smell of clean water and pine filled his nose.

“What the fuck?!” Eric Cartman's breaking voice squeaked in surprise. He turned to face Eclipse. “YOU AGAIN!” He shouted.

“Me,” Eclipse replied flatly, feeling a certain sense of dread.

 _It's not here._  
Look harder?  
We already looked.  
Well, then look again! Any number of Eclipses decided.

Eric Cartman had lost weight. While he was still a bit pudgy, Eclipse could see that he'd lost most of his bulk. His hair was buzzed short, and his orange coveralls were broken up only by the black number printed on the left breast.

“The fuck do _you_ want?” Cartman demanded, “And where the hell are we?” He looked around. “Oh, this is very nice! I like this place.” Cartman added whimsically.

“Thought you would. We need to talk,” Eclipse then told him. “And we can do it the easy way, or we can do it the hard way.”

 _We done did it the hard way!_  
And I'm doing it again!  
If he doesn't do it again, you won't be there to nag him about it.  
Good point.  
Would you lot be quiet?

Kyle reached for that “off switch” that he'd always envisioned before, but found that he couldn't find it.

“Oh, you're not just gonna rape my mind again?” Cartman snorted. “Bet you all had a good laugh, getting me locked up in there to rot, Kahl?”

Eclipse grinned behind his mask. He concentrated on his own face.

His mask vanished, but the revealed face was not Kyle's.

Cartman gasped. “Stan?!”

But it wasn't Stan he was looking at. The face shifted into Kenny's. Then Craig's. Then Butters'. Eclipse ran through all of his friends, including some of the other boys they just knew from school: Douglas, Brimmy, Louis, Fossie, Carrot-Nate, Glassy, Bill, and the lot of them. He even threw in Trent Boyette, which made Cartman gasp and take a step back.

Eclipse's face continued to shift.

“Pick one,” he ordered Cartman, in a raspy voice that was still oddly choral. He had just 'become' Tweek when he realized that Cartman – this Cartman – truly had no idea who Eclipse really was.

_He hasn't made the connection, even though he was there the first time we did this!_

“You like to argue with Kyle, no? How about Kyle?” Eclipse asked.

“Uh, OK?” Cartman agreed, and Eclipse's face resumed its normal shape.

“Tell me you didn't miss it? The arguments?” Kyle's unbroken voice asked.

“You know, whoever you _really_ are, I've had just about had enough of your shit!” Cartman retorted, “Whether you're really Kahl or not!” He drawled the name.

“Tell me about the man in the black suit you've been talking to,” Eclipse ordered. Cartman only smirked at him. “I know that you know that he's from the future, and that he's been giving you orders. I also know that you're going to be released pretty soon, when a mistrial is declared. It'll be found that Judge Bonner was going into Alzheimer's Disease at your trial, and you'll get off Scot-free. They can't try you again for all your past crimes, and you'll just walk. How's that for fuckin' real, Fat-Ass?” Eclipse blinked. “Guess they can't call you _that_ anymore? Kyle will be so disappointed.”

“Fuck Kyle,” Cartman shrugged, and Eclipse found that those words, surprisingly, hurt.

“You know, I happen to know that Kyle really _does_ like you, as a friend,” Eclipse told him.

Cartman snorted. “ _No_ shit? Why?”

“Beats me.”

“Stupid Jew,” Cartman grinned, sitting down on the pebble beach and pulling his shoes off. “God, I miss him, though. It's like when he moved to California, and all I had was Butters. What a douchebag!” He looked out over the lake. “So, mistrial, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Sweet!”

“You gonna tell me what I wanna know?” Eclipse reminded him. “I have a good idea who _he_ is, you know.”

“Oh? Who, now?”

“Your benefactor. He's _you_. A future-you,” Eclipse informed Cartman, which didn't register as surprise on Cartman's face. “There's been a lotta time travelers here in South Park lately, and a lot of changes made to the future. But then again, you know all about that, too, don't you?”

“Is this real, or are you fucking with my mind?” Cartman asked, looking around.

“It's real. Go ahead. Try the water.”

Cartman stripped to his shorts, and Eclipse was amazed at the change in his body. Cartman went for a swim, just far enough out to float. He'd certainly been working out, it seemed. Eclipse let him float for a while before Cartman came back to shore. After all, where was he going to go?

“Motivation Corp, that's where it started,” Cartman nodded, stretching out on the sun-warmed pebbles. “Damn, it's almost winter again? Breeze is chilly! But seriously, K _yyy_ ile – or whoever you are? Yeah, I've had a regular visitor. Looks just like that douchebag that was outside Motivation Corp. They never see him, though, the inmates or guards. Romper and all those guys think I'm nuts, you know? Got that imaginary friend thing and all?”

“Romper?”

 _Romper Stomper, his cellmate._  
He's in until he's 21, for killing his stepdad.  
Spoiler alert!  
Would you lot be still a minute?

“I assume you're running the place by now?” Eclipse smiled.

“Fuck yes, I am!” Cartman smiled. “Son of a bitch didn't tell me I was getting sprung, though?” His eyes twinkled at the thought.

“Did he tell you about the horrible things you'll do, once you're out?”

“Some,” Cartman admitted.

“Why Tweek and Craig?” Eclipse had to ask, his voice cold and his hands flexing into fists.

“HA! Those fags?” Cartman laughed, and it was that same soulless, chilling laughter that Eclipse remembered. That Kyle remembered. “I was just having fun with them. Damn Craig, though? Thought he was the next poorest kid, and then his dad goes and gets him a car, whatever he wants, and-”

“And you _still_ don't get it, do you?” Eclipse snorted. “Craig worked his ass off for what he had. How your life turned out was no one's fault but your own.”

“Thought you wanted to know about me, and what I knew after the whole future-selves thing – when they faked out Stan and Butters?” Cartman laughed again. “God, how stupid were they, to fall for that trick?”

“How stupid were you, when your real future-self came back to congratulate you, and you fucked him over?” Eclipse countered.

“I fucked up,” Cartman admitted. “I guess I'll tell you, Superdouche. Can I call you that, or something like Fake-Kahl?”

“Your choice.”

“Fine!” Cartman agreed, “So, Superdouche, this guy shows up, after you made scrambled eggs of my brain! Gave me a shot of something, and some other drugs. Put my mind back together, you know. I kept thinking you'd come back to fuck me over again, but you didn't. See, the thing is, he-”

“-He gave you the ability to remember the future,” Eclipse interrupted. “I know. You're not the only one who can do that.”

And in the instant that he said it, Eclipse realized the error: Cartman didn't know the future.

 _I thought you downloaded a copy of that one future into him, when we broke his mind?_  
Apparently, he had it, but not anymore?  
Looks like the repairs to his mind erased it.  
Yes, but we thought we could have missed something, so let's do it again.  
If you'd all be still, I WOULD do it again!

Cartman blinked in surprise, then cocked an eyebrow. “Obviously, you can?”

“Me, and a few others. But you have _no_ comprehension of what I can do,” Eclipse warned him, raising his hand. The lake suddenly froze over in a deafening POP! Then, just as quickly, it melted. _Shit, I didn't really think that'd work!_ Eclipse surprised himself.

“In the future,” Cartman went on, nervously eyeing the water, “I'll become the CEO of my own time travel company. He gave me a book called A Sound of Thunder. See, you have to be really careful with time travel, Superdouche. I think this Bradbury guy might have been one, too, come to think. But this other me said you guys were doing it like a bull in a china shop?”

Eclipse ignored that remark. “You? Reading?”

“Not much else to do,” Cartman shrugged. “But like I always do, I fucked it up. But he told me some other dumbasses from the future came along and ended up putting me – us – all back together again? So, this time, he was taking no chances.”

“Unfortunately,” Eclipse agreed, running over it all in his mind again. For all he knew, he could be the one doing just that.

“Bet you thought you had him, when that older-you busted him out at Kenny's house, didn't you?” Cartman grinned.

“So you know about that?”

“He told me about it,” Cartman explained, “So I'll...he'll be ready for it. Fucking pronouns? Bad as this whole gender thing!”

“We figured that that was too easy, and probably a trap,” Eclipse nodded. “But what you don't understand, Cartman, is that there's a lot of time between you – now – and him, then. You have to grow up first, and there's gonna be a lot of _us_ watching _you_! You still have to put in the work.” When Cartman didn't react, Eclipse added, “You know, some of us even suggested just outright killing you. I can think of one in particular who'd gladly do it, right now.”

“But the damage to time would be too much? All you did already, would get undone?” Cartman smirked. “Yeah, he told me about that, too. I know about Chef, for one. And Pip. I even know that Trent Boyette is supposed to be in jail with me, Superdouche! I know that someone went back in time, and smashed his balls!” Cartman laughed so hard at that, that he almost cried. “Ohhh, it's too good! Trent losing his _nuts_!” Cartman howled in mirth. “Ha ha! Wish it had been me!” He paused. “Oh, that's right – it was Kyle? Damn Jews get to have all the fun!”

“You're sick,” Eclipse told him, but Cartman looked genuinely confused.

And when Eclipse checked, sure enough, Cartman _was_ confused.

“I know!” Cartman chortled, getting himself under control. “Trent's rich now, though, I hear? Saw him on TV, talking on some show, and how he's got Tweek to play keyboards for his albums. He's so cute in those white robes and red trim, don't you think? I bet all those other choirboys are gay, too?” Cartman mused.

“Pisses you off enough to wanna kill Tweek, doesn't it?” Eclipse asked.

 _Why don't you ask him why he did it?_ Eclipse remembered that other form of himself having asked him.

The problem was, Eclipse realized, that Cartman didn't remember doing it.

Cartman froze, and in that instant, Eclipse fully realized that his old nemesis had no idea what he was talking about. He probed gently, but there was no memory of a future in Cartman's mind of the crash.

He searched his own alternate memory, calling the Others, but no Eclipse recalled _this_ ever taking place:

“ _God damned Jew,” Cartman muttered, “It's not my fault that Craig drives like an idiot, and ended up scattering his boyfriend's brains all over Route 285!” He laughed, a cold and almost maniacal laugh. PC Principal just stared at him in shock._

“ _And you just had to say it, didn't you?” Kyle spoke up, “You just couldn't wait to see what Craig would do, when you got to be the one who told him that Tweek was dead, and that he was responsible for it?”_

“ _CRAIG IS RESPONSIBLE!” Cartman yelled back, “And he doesn't remember?” He laughed again, “My fuckin' ass he doesn't! He knows what he did! He's just playing all innocent so no one will blame him! Craig's always been a dick, but when he got that car, he really was! Rubbing it in everyone's face, walking around with his stupid rainbow flag shit, and him and Tweek all like...”_

But it simply wasn't there.

“No, it's been wiped out,” Eclipse mused.

“What?”

“Never mind. I'll ask you again, Cartman?” Eclipse warned him, raising his hands.

“AY! Watch it now, Asshole! I got no problem with Tweek! Hell, we voted him as the new friend, that once! Until the little fucker told Spielberg and Lucas they could keep me that one time. Bastard! You all even fired me for Bebe Stevens! But _kill_ him? You think I just go around murdering people for fun?”

 _Only when it serves your purpose!_ Eclipse recalled.

“Tell that to the Tennormans,” Eclipse reminded him. “You murdered them over something like sixteen bucks?”

 _Can we reschedule the Tennormans, then?_  
What about Clyde's mom?  
Are you serious?  
Why don't we just resurrect the whole damn cemetery?

“That was different,” Cartman shrugged. “Now why would I try and kill off such a great source of entertainment as Tweek and Craig?” Cartman countered, snickering. Then something seemed to come to him. “You're doing whatever it is you're doing, all because of _Tweek_?!” He paused. Eclipse didn't answer. “You are, _aren't_ you? You're fucking the future, to save ONE life?”

“Don't get cocky about it,” Eclipse warned him, “You're nothing more than a Sea Monkey in an aquarium, to me!”

 _If you'd run amok with your powers, I'd have taken them away from you!_ That Other-Kyle had told him not so long ago.

Eclipse looked over his shoulder, half-expecting to see his mysterious older self from the Void. But they were alone. There were no tents, no campfire, and the sky was blue. There was a small ring of ashes on the beach, though.

“Then why not just kill me, and be done with it?” Cartman asked. “If you're changing the future, and fucking with the past, how many people have you offed so far, then? Maybe without even knowing it? Huh?!”

“Believe me, Cartman, you racist, self-centered, conceited _prick_! There's nothing more that I'd like to do _just that_ to you right now! And I'd take my time doing it, too!” He growled, his face shifting from that of Kyle to Stan, to Kenny, and through the gauntlet again . He even did Cartman's face, which unnerved the real Cartman. “I'd relish every single second of all Eternity, tearing you apart, and putting you back together again, just so I could find a new way to do it!”

“You forgot 'supremacist asswipe',” Cartman smirked.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Do go on, K'yahl?” Cartman grinned, as Eclipse's mask reappeared. “The fuck are you supposed to be anyway? Some kind of discount Darth Vader?”

“You are completely incapable of taking _anything_ seriously, aren't you?” Eclipse asked, pushing back that emotion, that impulse to take action. _The last time you went off like you're about to do, Canada got nuked !_ He reminded himself.

“Look, I may be all the things you mentioned, Superdouche, but one thing I'm _not_ is stupid,” Cartman replied. “You learn pretty fast in juvie that if you're not slick, you end up the whipping boy – the one who gets beat up all the time, or raped. Not _my_ style,” he added in a lighter tone, just as he always did. “So I'll give you this – you're a real Metahuman. Point taken; you're not just some kid in a costume, playing superheroes. You beaming me outta juvie for a nice swim proves that. To say nothing of what you did to my mind before. So here it is, if you want it,” Cartman pointed at his own forehead. “I can see that you've got no reason to trust me, and apparently, in the future you know, I was an asshole. But I don't know the half of what you're talking about, Eclipse, or whoever the fuck you even _are_. Most of it doesn't make any sense. So here it is – _take_ it!”

_And it's not in there.  
Then look again!_

And Eclipse did just that.

_Brace yourself, Buddy!_

He poured through Cartman's memory in an instant, past and future. Most of it he already knew. Some of it, he didn't _want_ to know. Dressing up in drag and playing tea party with stuffed animals was one thing, but there were things that Eric Cartman got up to that left Kyle nauseated.

_We'll get right on blocking those out!_

There was the man in the black suit, yes. He was the only visitor that Cartman ever had. Not even his own mother came to see him. And the man in black was frequent. He had given Cartman explicit directions about what to do, but the lot of it was mundane: Don't get in trouble anymore, after they let you out over the mistrial thing. Crack down at schoolwork. Get those grades up. The whole time travel CEO thing was real. Don't blow it again!

The next gave Eclipse pause: If you get your friends back, don't take them for granted. They're not there to serve you. It goes both ways, you little shit! Sure, take from them. But make sure to give back. Damn, I miss them!

And still: The future is not set in stone, just like the Terminator-movie guy said. Our day -to-day decisions shape it, mold it, change it – each and every moment. Make every moment count. And stop treating Mom like crap. She won't always be there.

Liane Cartman had simply disappeared one day, not long after Eric had come of age. Cartman had simply awakened one morning to find her gone, with only a note:

**Eric,  
You're old enough to take care of yourself.  
It's about damn time, too!  
Be well. Don't look for me.  
The house is paid for.  
Goodbye.  
Love,  
Mom**

For just a moment, Eclipse felt the pain of that. But only for a moment. He wasn't about to let his guard down and trust Cartman. In fact, the last memory of Liane leaving, Eclipse thought, only made Cartman more dangerous.

He was surprised to also find in those tips from that Future Cartman: And lay off of Tweek and Craig! It's not funny, you fat lump! And DO something about yourself. You're going to die of Type-2 diabetes at age 23.

“Got to the tablet yet?” Cartman asked, which almost broke Eclipse's concentration.

“What?!”

_Tablet? What tablet?_

“He gave me a cool tablet, better than any piece'a'shit iPad today. It's got all kinds of cool future stuff on it, too,” Cartman explained. “Did you know that someone here in South Park invents time travel? Well, _again_? And not with a microwave oven, and a duck! I think it must be Kevin, since it's called a 'Stoley Discriminator'.”

“Awwwww,” Eclipse pinched the bridge of his nose, just like Stan did.

“Don't be too upset, Stan,” Cartman shrugged, “It's not like I understand much of it. But I do know which stocks and shit to buy. I think I'll win the lottery, when I get out. How's that? Powerball, about 20 million, never claimed?”

“I don't care,” Eclipse groaned, flicking his left hand at a rock, which immediately turned into a gold nugget the size of a softball.

“Didn't find it, did you?” Cartman persisted, “What you were looking for?” He snorted. “Well, now I know you're not Kyle!”

Eclipse was not done looking, however. He probed again, years of memory spun by in an instant, but-

It was not there.

What he was looking for was simply not there.

“You don't remember the future?” Eclipse asked, irritated.

“How can you _remember_ a future? I wondered what the fuck you were talking about, Stan?”

Eclipse realized at once, though, that he was being played. It was, after all, Cartman's style. “I'm not Stan.”

Cartman blinked.

“It's not gonna work this time, Eric,” Eclipse altered his voice.

“So now you're Butters?”

Beneath the mask, Kyle fought for control. Even though he knew that Cartman was trying to get him to crack, to lose control, he could feel that control beginning to slip. He took a deep breath.

“You fucked up, didn't you?” Cartman then asked. “You thought you had it all figured out, but you _don't,_ do you? Blamed it on me all along, just like Kahl would do!”

“You're telling me that _you_ were framed?” Eclipsed asked hotly.

 _Now there's a good point!_  
Why didn't I think of that?  
I-we just did!

“If this shithead really is from the future, and knows the Goobacks and them in the year 3000,” Cartman replied, “Then I'd say if he wanted to set me up, or anyone up, there wouldn't be shit that we could do about it. We're outgunned on that one, Superdouche.”

“He told you that he's the last one, though? And that he IS you?”

“Yes,” Cartman admitted, and Eclipse knew that to be true from what he'd downloaded. He suddenly wanted to wash his brain in bleach, knowing everything that Eric Cartman knew! “Yeah, he was pretty pissed about what you guys did to all the rest of him. Them. Does that make any sense?” Cartman added, in that whimsical tone again.

“None of this is making sense, now,” Eclipse admitted.

Cartman added, “Yeah, and he's pretty pissed about you guys chasing him all around the Timeline, trying to get rid of him. He's really pissed at an old you, you know. It might have been a trick, but getting busted at Kenny's house really was real.”

“You were – HE was – going to assassinate us!” Eclipse snapped back at him.

“I've wanted to assassinate Kyle a lot of times,” Cartman shrugged, stretching in the sun. Realizing that he was dry, he got dressed again. “But then I'd miss out on so much fun!”

 _Damn, he really did trim down,_ Kyle mentally noted, remembering the fake Cartman from the fat camp days: The kid he'd hired to impersonate him.

But Cartman wasn't done yet. “Look, Superdouche, I'll admit that I'm not a nice person. I _am_ selfish. I'm rude, bigoted, and usually a big dick to everyone. It's all about me, in my book. That's just how I was raised, and to tell the truth – which I don't normally do – I like it like that. But I am _not_ some random killer.”

Yet there was something there. Something that Eclipse couldn't quite put his finger on. Something just on the verge of memory, but somewhere in his mind that Cartman couldn't quite get hold of it. He grabbed Cartman by the chin.

“Whoa! Don't I get flowers, and dinner and movie first?” Cartman joked.

Focusing on one point, Eclipse looked again. Deeply.

“It's not there,” Eclipse admitted, hastily letting Cartman go.

“Asshole,” Cartman complained, rubbing his jaw. “I got a bad tooth, you know.”

“I know,” Eclipse agree. “Open your mouth and hold still!”

“What'r you gonna do?” Cartman asked, backing away.

“If you hold still, I'll fix it, you p-” Eclipse bit his own tongue to keep from hurling an insult that might give him away.

Cartman did as he was told, and Eclipse repaired his tooth with a single thought of how the tooth should be.

“Why would you do that?” Cartman wondered.

“Because you were honest, for once. Remember, Eric, I know what you know. ALL OF IT!” Eclipse reminded him, fighting back the urge to vomit.

“Oh,” Cartman actually blushed. “Yeah, that didn't work out so well, that time that Butters exposed me for dancing around with-”

“Don't REMIND me!” Eclipse exclaimed, turning with a growl of frustration.

All his theories, all that he'd been so sure of, were crumbling away right in front of him. He couldn't help but think of his older selves turning to dust and blowing away. It seemed that his planned future was doing just that, at that very moment.

 _But we saw him in the fucking car!_  
No doubt, he did it.  
This makes no sense!

Somewhere up the mountain, an avalanche of early season snow gave way.

“Was that you?” Cartman breathed, in genuine surprise.

“Mabye, I dunno,” Eclipse admitted. “I'm pretty pissed!”

“So, you're a time traveler, too, then? And not just acting on information?” Cartman asked.

“Not telling you.”

Cartman shrugged. “Don't blame you. I'm playing you, you know. Working you for info that I want. That he wants.”

“I know, thanks.” Eclipse paused. “What do _you_ want?”

“Well,” Cartman wheedled, “When do I get out, exactly?”

“You miss eighth grade, and next summer, but you'll be out in time for a week of it, then ninth grade starts,” Eclipse replied, as the Ninth Grade Eclipse confirmed it.

“Thanks! From what my visitor told me, you're not immortal, though. Not like Kenny,” Cartman stated. “Tell me, is that poor piece'a'crap still playing that game? I saw him on Randy Marsh's TV show. Looks like he finally got a life? I mean, shit – he busted his own dad?”

“He is,” Eclipse answered, “And that's in the news. You watch the news?”

“I do. Good one, Kahl. Or Stan, Butters, Tweek - whoever the fuck you are. I really don't care.”

The names got Eclipse's attention.

_You said that he was gonna assassinate us, at Kenny's! That gives him five names to work with, six if you count Craig._

“Liar!” Eclipse accused him in Token's voice, still running over and over it in his mind, using the resources of every single Eclipse he could call upon.

_But we saw Cartman in the van! We KNOW that he was there, and that he caused the crash! It was his mom's van._

_Liane Cartman is gone, NOW, yes,_ Eclipse realized, as the multitude of them were, after all, one. _From any perspective, she'll leave. It's not just a threat. Not like that morning that Cartman stood at the bus stop, all alone, and just said “weak”._

_A thousand years of tech, beyond us. They can create Drones from raw DNA. They used time travel. They have AI computers that can interface with tablets!_

Eclipse held out his hand. In a swirl of pixelation, Cartman's tablet appeared.

“How do you keep the guards from taking this?”

“We can have tablets,” Cartman answered, “The WIFI is just limited to two hours a day, and it's filtered.”

 _Get a grip, Kyle, you knew that,_ he berated himself.

_He's getting to us, just like he always does!_

Eclipse took another deep breath. The air was cooling, and the light waning. It looked to be a perfect evening. He wondered how badly the future might shift, if Cartman had escaping on his rap-sheet. He decided against it.

He also came to another conclusion, one that turned his stomach.

_They can create Drones from raw DNA._

“Look, I'm sorry that you didn't find what you wanted, in my miiiiind,” Cartman drawled.

“I think you may be just another pawn in this whole thing,” Eclipse told him, changing the pitch of his voice to match Clyde's.

“Now I know you're not Clyde! He's not this smart,” Cartman pointed out.

Eclipse pointed a finger at him, just short of Cartman's nose. “You leave Clyde alone!”

“Oh! Touchy about Clyde, are we? What happened? He lose his _other_ testicle?” Cartman laughed. “God, I loved that news show we did in fourth grade,” he shook his head. “Remember when Stan shit in the urinal, and Mr. Macky was going insane over it? And then Clyde...” Cartman rolled in mirth. “A shit-pouch on his side? How gross was that?” Cartman laughed, “And then Mr. Meryl wanted to have Craig castrated?!”

“How would you like to lose _yours_?” Eclipse offered.

“Whoa, now, Cowboy!” Cartman gasped, “Let's not get crazy! You got my whole hard drive here,” he tapped his forehead, “Copied! What more you want?”

“I want to wait. I want to wait it out, and do it the right way,” Eclipse admitted, as he thought about that explosion of blue light he'd seen in the sky above Route 285.

The explosion that was going to touch off this whole mess for Kenny.

The explosion that would lead to Eclipse's own creation.

 _But I saw it! Cartman was there!_  
Cartman IS there!  
What if it's not THIS Cartman?  
Could be a clone?  
Keith said cloning was illegal.  
What about a Drone-Clone?

Eclipse felt a headache coming on.

 _This algebra final is a real bitch!_  
REALLY? An algebra final, Kyle?!  
Send us the answers, would you?  
Pi-r-squared equals two Pi-r?  
Focus, guys!

“What other choice is there?” Cartman asked, “Unless you get a Drone's little wristwatch thingie and jump?”

 _He doesn't know,_ Eclipse knew, _He doesn't know that I'm in all points of my life at once!_

But what was damn disturbing was what Eric Cartman did not know.

Yet he knew about Drones.

Cartman seemed to sense the next question. “I met that Korx kid, you know. Fuckin' Gooback! Gross,” he made a face. “I also hear that Kyle's family adopted him, since he got stranded here, and nobody came to pick him up? Funny, I thought all the gay guys in South Park, like, fucked 'em all outta existence that one time?” Cartman laughed.

“You're awfully into this cross-dressing, and gay stuff?” Eclipse pointed out. “I think you might be just as pan as Kenny is!”

“Well, now aren't _we_ just being rude?” Cartman scoffed. “But no, Superdouche, if I were you, I'd check that Drone that lives with Kyle. He reminds me too much of those little bastards on _**Star Trek**_ , that stole the _Enterprise_ that one time. I wouldn't trust him.”

_They can create Drones from raw DNA..._

“I will,” Eclipse agreed, mainly to placate Cartman. The Collective, after all, was quick to defend Keith.

“I don't wanna complain-” Cartman began.

“But you will?”

“I really need to get back, and it'd be nice if you'd like, sign a note for me?” Cartman asked.

“Fine,” Eclipse snorted, as they pixelated back to the guard shack at the Alamosa Maximum Security Juvenile Hall.

“Can I help you?” the bored guard asked.

“Yes,” Eclipse rasped, his voice changed yet again, “I need to vouch for this inmate, please?”

The guard jumped up in shock. “What'r YOU doing out there?”

“I abducted him, sir,” Eclipse explained.

“Seriously?” Cartman sniffed. “Seriously? Did we miss dinner?”

“Say, you're that Eclipse-kid what was on the news! The new superhero in town!”

“I think I'm gonna barf,” Cartman groaned.

“Thank you, sir. Please don't hold it against him,” Eclipse asked. “He had info that I needed.” _Actually he didn't, but oh well?_

“I'd'a just dumped him here?” the guard made a face.

“Can I just come in, before I get busted, and miss dinner?” Cartman asked.

“Take him on up to the warden's office, and sign the forms,” the guard sighed, sitting back down to buzz them in.

“Really?” Eclipse wondered.

“Seriously, Dude,” Cartman agreed, as they were buzzed on in. “I bet you could get a new car in here past these jackwads, and they'd never notice it.”

“Come in,” the warden called, as they rang the buzzer. “Ah, Eclipse!” He greeted them. “Next time, why don't you just ask, OK?”

Eclipse noted that there were more guards approaching the door behind them. He explained the situation again, and even signed a form.

“You can't be serious?” Eclipse then asked, as he heard guns cocking.

“That's gratitude,” Cartman sniffed. Eclipse turned to him. “AY! I had nothin' to do with this!”

 _Remember, mistrial and release, pretty soon,_ Eclipse spoke up in Cartman's mind.

“Sweet,” Cartman nodded. “Am I excused?”

“Go back to your cell, please, 24601,” the warden told him, and Cartman did that.

“You, on the other hand?” the warden told Eclipse, who simply snorted and pixelated away.

“Sir?” A guard asked, finding that he was now holding a Nerf gun.

Down at his cell block, word had spread quickly that Cartman had simply vanished in front of several other inmates. As he made his way to the mess hall with the others on his block, he thought about what had just happened. He also wondered how they'd only seemed to have been gone for a few minutes?

He genuinely had no idea who Eclipse was, and while he was sure that the Superhero didn't believe him, Cartman really didn't care. What he didn't know, however, was how Eclipse could do what he did. And since he was who he was, Cartman really didn't understand why, either. That, and he was more than a bit jealous, already daydreaming about what he'd do, if he had that kind of power.

He was also afraid.

“So Tweek is gonna die, and they're in an all-out Time War to prevent it?” Cartman wondered, as he soon found himself the talk of the place. _I'll have to ask that asshole about it, next time he shows up here for a future-chat._

“Eric!” Romper greeted him, still favoring his healed up leg a little, “We saw it! You, like, beamed up, Dude!”

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” 52365*, a boy with curly black hair asked.

“I heard it was that Eclipse-kid from the news!” A tall boy that looked just like Butters (only with black streaks in his hair) put in.*

“It was,” Cartman confirmed, as they got in line for dinner.

“So what'd he _do_ to you?” Romper breathed. “Is he coming back?”

After making a few deals with the others, for things like contraband candy and such, Cartman told them the story, with a few embellishments.

“He's got a sweet costume,” another boy with auburn hair* said.

Cartman's eyebrow went up. The line moved forward. “I'd add a codpiece, if I were him.”

“Checkin' him out, were you?” The auburn-haired boy grinned.

Cartman ignored him.

“So what all can he do? Is he like, Superman?” the boy who looked like Butters asked.

Cartman was still telling them all about it as the front of the line began chattering about something.

“Food must suck again,” 52365 said.

“When does it _not_ suck?” Romper rolled his eyes.

“Guys! Check it out!” An older boy called from the front of the line, holding up a large pizza box from Whistlin' Willie's. “All the food is pizza!”

“Apparently, this Eclipse-kid can alter matter?” Cartman told them.

“He did _that_ for you?” Romper wondered.

“Guess so?” Cartman mused, as the guards weren't sure what to do, and just served the pizza.

“Sir, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to piss off this Eclipse-kid?” One guard suggested, still holding a Nerf gun, as the warden arrived.

“There's cake, too?” One of the cooks pointed out.

“Serve it,” The warden growled in disgust.

He then jumped as someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Standing right behind him was Eclipse. “Don't _fuck_ with me, Mister!” Eclipse warned him, “You have NO clue what you're dealing with here! I could turn your walls and fences into toilet paper, if I wanted to!”

All eyes were on Eclipse. The room went quiet.

“Oh, wow! It's him! He's really real!” A boy with dull brown hair and a nasal voice exclaimed.*

Eclipse nodded to him.

And then he vanished.

The cafeteria was different that evening, the staff noticed at once. There was friendly chatter, laughter, and everyone seemed to have food. Smaller boys weren't being robbed of their dinner, and no fights broke out. Even the weird kids, who usually sat alone, were social.

When they were done eating, and back in the rec room for their hour of TV time, Cartman couldn't help but wonder just why Eclipse – for all that he seemed to be able to do – was so interested in the weird guy who came to visit him.

“He must have thought that I knew something, or that that weirdo told me something important?” Cartman shrugged. “Hell, Superdouche already knows about that me in the future, right?” He kept asking himself.

When he got back to his cell with Romper, he realized something: his tablet.

“Oh, God-dammit!” Cartman swore. “He kept it!”

“Eclipse took your cool tablet?” Romper wondered.

Cartman flopped on his bed in a huff.

“Well, maybe your imaginary friend will bring you a new one?” Romper laughed, “But seriously, Dude, you think you could get Eclipse to bring us pizza again?”

Cartman just looked at him as if the boy were insane.

*

Back home in his room, Kyle debated going to bed. While Keith had his own room adjacent, Kyle knew that his brother would most often stay with him.

The constant sense of déjà vu, as Kyle had noted before, was becoming annoying. He looked up at door before Keith even opened it.

“Didn't go well?”

“I knew when I touched him, that he didn't know,” Kyle nodded. “But I still did it anyways.” Kyle punched his pillow. “Dammit! I was so sure that he knew, when I went in!”

“You _had_ to do it,” Keith nodded back, sitting down on the bed next to his brother. “You had to do it, otherwise, you'd not have known that you'd already done it. Just tune them out, Kyle; those other you's. You've done it before.”

“It's not the same, since the 'me' at the crash site broke the block. Not since I _saw_ it,” Kyle explained. “It's like, I'm 'them' all the time now. I don't know if I can completely separate myself from the Collective! I mean, shit! It's just like the Borg on _**Star Trek**_! I even know about the surprise trip to Casa Bonita for fall break. And the me that's in the toilet, when he-I-”

“TOO MUCH INFORMATION!” Keith then sighed. He put his arm around Kyle's shoulders.

“Did you anticipate that?” Keith asked.

“No.”

“See, it's like the ripple effect,” Keith reminded him, “Only the big stuff stays the same. Some of the ripples are too small to do any damage.”

“But enough small ripples will eventually erode the big rocks,” Kyle sighed.

“Takes a while,” Keith joked.

“True. And Cartman always _was_ a pretty big thing,” Kyle snickered. “Well, not anymore. That kinda surprised me. He's in pretty good shape now.”

“See? It's not a nonstop spoiler alert now, is it?” Keith assured him.

“He said to check you out, too. He knows about Drones, and he doesn't trust them.”

“Did you?” Keith asked.

Kyle shook his head. “Something else that Cartman said,” Kyle mused, as they got ready for bed. He noticed Keith zipping up the front of those yellow Pokemon pyjamas, the Drone tattoo on Keith's chest getting his attention. “And when you said only the big things stay the same?”

“What did he say?” Keith wondered, flipping up the hood.

“'The future is not set in stone, just like the Terminator-movie guy said. Our day-to-day decisions shape it, mold it, change it – each and every moment.'” Kyle recited it.

Keith thought about it. “I'd say that you can't worry about the little things, then. Concentrate on the big ones. Besides, you're already there, right? You prevented the crash?”

“Sort of,” Kyle shrugged, “Me and The Collective are kinda having an issue with when to mind our own business!”

“We are?” An obvious projection of an older Kyle peeked _through_ the door.

“SEE?!” Kyle pointed.

“I see you snagged Cartman's tablet?” Keith observed, glancing at the night stand.

“IKE!” Sheila shouted from below, distracting them, “What the HELL have you been up to? Do you know how _late_ it is, Mister?! Your brothers are already in bed!”

“That brings back memories!” Kyle grinned. “He's been out with the gang, playing like we used to, down at Stark's Pond. Ike's a Knight.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Did you see that one coming?” Keith asked, but Kyle shook his head. He smiled.

“Kyle, do you remember the Triangle of Zinthar?” Ike asked, poking his head in.

“Uhm, no, Ike?” Kyle lied, “Should I?”

“I put it up somewhere, now I can't find it,” Ike grumbled. “Without it, we can't make the diamond!”

“You're a mess, Ike?”

“I know. I'm gettin' a bath, an' going to bed!” Ike declared. “What a day! Well, 'night!” He closed the door.

“Triangle of _what_ now?” Keith asked.

“Never mind,” Kyle sighed, turning back the covers. They got into Kyle's bed and snuggled up. “Last thing I need right now is a Mecha-Ike tearing up the town!”

“Not so tight,” Keith grunted.

“Sorry!” Kyle relaxed his embrace. “I guess I'm feeling overprotective?”

 _Tweek and Craig are fine,_ another Kyle spoke up in Kyle's mind.   
_You know, this is only going to happen in emergencies, or when we get worried now?  
They x-rayed Craig's foot. He cracked a bone dropping that gear on it.  
Yeah, Stan just left there, with Token and Clyde and Jimmy.  
Thank you,_ Kyle-Prime sort of huffed. _Goodnight!_

Kyle noticed that Keith was already asleep. He kissed their ear, then adjusted the hood, marveling at how the kid could just go to sleep like that.

 _Because he feels safe,_ Kyle thought to himself.

“You're safe, too, so go to sleep,” Another Kyle spoke up, but this one wasn't in Kyle's head. A teenage Kyle, so much taller, was standing at the foot of the bed near the night light. “I'm not gonna sit _here_ all night, when I have a party at Tweek's place to go to!”

“But I...?” Kyle began, but as his doppelganger's eyes flashed, Kyle-Prime drifted off, too.

“God, was I ever such a dork?” Teen-Kyle wondered, tucking them in.

He then vanished.

*

Back at the Alamosa Maximum Security Juvenile Hall, Eric Cartman lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

_I'm getting paroled again! Screw you guys, I'm goin' home!_

“Fun evening, Eric?” A man's voice then asked, which made Cartman yelp, sitting bolt upright.

“Oh, it's you again. Yeah, Eclipse was here, just like you said he'd be,” Cartman nodded, knowing full well that no matter how loud this guy got, Romper would never wake up. The guards would never show up, either. Cartman had made the mistake of trying to wake Romper during one visit, and found the boy in a catatonic state, almost as if his brain had been shut off.

The man then quickly pressed something metal and cold to Cartman's neck. It hissed.

“What the fuck, Dude?” Cartman protested. “The hell you shooting me up with?”

“I'm not, I'm taking blood. You owe me, you worthless lump, in case you forgot!”

The man in black smiled as he studied the hypo full of blood. It then vanished into a swirl of blue light.

“Just the right length of DNA telomeres, I'll say!”

“Uh, OK?” Cartman agreed, not really sure what to make of that. “Sir?” He added nervously, “Eclipse took the tablet!”

“Oh, God-dammit!” The man exclaimed, in a very familiar tone. “I'm really starting to _hate_ that kid. That was kinda important.”

“He's Stan Marsh,” Cartman told him.

“What? How do you know? _I_ don't know that? Wait, yes I do! Damn, I hate temporal lag!” The man paused. “How can we be sure?”

“The nose pinch,” they both then said together.

“And the way he stands, that noise he makes he's annoyed,” Cartman added, glancing at his cellmate. “Dude, you keep doing this shit to him, you're gonna fry Romper's brain,” Cartman warned him.

“Too late for that, not that it matters,” the man shrugged. He then tapped his Discriminator. “Send it on back,” he said in a low voice. His Discriminator buzzed. He touched his ear. “What? I don't care! Tap into the emergency reserve. I've got to have it here, NOW!”

Cartman the saw a small, but dim, blue portal open up, and a perfect copy of himself stepped through it.

Almost perfect.

This new and naked Cartman was somewhat trimmer, and had better muscle tone. He was also totally bald. Across his chest was a tattoo of symbols that resembled some kind of code. Cartman couldn't quite place it.

“Meet Drone EC-2,” the man told Cartman, “Genetically engineered to replace _you_. Put it out on the street, dressed, and no one would ever give it a second look.”

Cartman snorted. “So that's why you took my blood? You think Eclipse is gonna fall for _that_? And what happened to EC-1, if that's 2?”

“Went nuts,” the man shrugged. “All it wanted to do was play video games and eat and bitch at the cat. Had to put it down.”

“ _Dude_!” Cartman breathed in shock. “Oh, I look ripped,” Cartman observed in that whimsical tone again. “Can I...touch him?”

“It won't mind,” the man nodded. “Go ahead, it's real.”

Cartman gently poked his doppelganger's upper arm. The Drone didn't react. Cartman was fascinated. He squeezed EC-2's bicep, and gasped. He poked EC-2's ribs, just a bit harder.

EC-2 giggled once, then went stoic again.

“It won't do Eclipse any good to try and read this one's mind, either. There's not much in there for them to see. In fact, this 'you' is about as dumb as a head of cabbage! Now, give it your clothes!”

“Hello!” EC-2 offered, a blank look on his face. “You look like me? My name is Eric Theodore Cartman. I'm thirteen years old,” they introduced themself.

“Why do you call him 'it'?” Cartman wondered.

“Because _it_ isn't a real person,” the man answered.

“Won't last a day in here,” Cartman snorted, but he did strip. At least the Drone knew how to dress.

“Didn't you tell me that you guys in the future make Drones without any...junk?” Cartman wondered, feeling self-conscious. He cocked an eyebrow.

“It would be hard to explain, if you suddenly showed up agendered. But not to worry, his 'junk' is only ornamental,” the man replied, “The last thing we need is for a genetically modified Drone to go having kids in the past. And the tattoo? Not so much. Romper's got a few, after all. He'll just think he did them for you, and guards won't notice.”

“Uh huh,” Romper moaned from his bunk. “Prettyyyyy!”

“They'll beat the shit out of him, rape him, or kill him. It. Whatever? Probably all of the above,” Cartman repeated, jerking a thumb at the Drone.

“Don't worry too much, he's had your neural engrams impressed upon his own blank neural network,” the man replied. “He'll be OK. The Goobacks, as you so wonderfully call them, had the human brain fully mapped and figured out about four hundred years from now.”

“So, that _thing_ can think for itself?” Cartman asked.

“Hell yes I can, Buttpipe!” EC-2 snapped, giving Cartman a glare. But as soon as the outburst was over, EC-2's face went blank again. His expression was one of emptiness.

“OK, what about my hair?” Cartman challenged it.

“It fell out,” EC-2 shrugged.

“You really think it's a good idea to program that kid with _my_ brain?” Cartman had to ask.

“Didn't take long!” EC-2 retorted.

“Good one!” The man approved.

“And if someone tries to start shit with you?”

“Then I will kick them _square_ in the nUts!” EC-2 said, in a perfect, classic Cartman style.

“Oh, I like that,” Cartman agreed.

“ _My_ nuts aren't real, and won't get hurt,” EC-2 added.

“Hehe! Like one of Clyde's!” Cartman snickered.

“Too much information, Drone,” the man sighed. “You're right, it's pretty stupid! Then again, we didn't have a whole lot to work with!”

“AY!” Cartman exclaimed.

“Gotcha!” the man grinned.

“Would it be too much ask for a pair of shorts, or a robe?” Cartman complained. “They don't exactly spend a lot on heat in here, you know!” He looked EC-2 over again. The Drone yawned.

“Its emotions are artificial as well. Well, I should say, not exactly. It doesn't feel things the way that humans do, as its frontal lobes have lower electrical activity and less connectivity than a real human's. If they damage it, we'll just replace it with an EC-3.”

“Kinda rude, calling him 'it',” Cartman pointed out.

“It's OK,” EC-2 nodded dumbly.

“This Korx kid is really smart though?” Cartman wondered, “I remember him from the first Goobacks' visit.”

“The Korx-Series was discontinued after the prototype model. It went rogue, and should be terminated,” EC-2 stated. He then got into Cartman's bunk and went to bed.

“Doesn't mince words, does he?” Cartman observed. “He's just gonna go to sleep?”

“Weren't you?” the man asked in reply.

“Guhhhniiite,” EC-2 mumbled, and that was it. Their breathing became slow and even.

“Doesn't waste time either?” Cartman observed.

“No, it doesn't. When you're …it's… released, it will take care of the Korx problem.”

“And then?” Cartman wondered.

The man shrugged. “It'll run out of Ribozene in a few weeks, its DNA will fall apart, and it'll die.”

Cartman paused. He looked hard at the boy sleeping in his bunk.

 _Sucks to be him. It? Them? Shit, it still isn't fair,_ Cartman thought. _But better it than me! Damn, I...it looks good, though? What a fuckin' waste of good DNA!_

“So, if I get out, end of summer, why do this now? Why not just wait?” Cartman wondered.

“Because we're not done with _you_ yet,” the man replied, grabbing Cartman's wrist.

“AY! The _fuck_ you doing? GUARDS!”

“I keep forgetting that we go through this, every time we have a session, Eric. Remember the aliens and their probes, when you were eight?” the man asked.

“Y-yeah?” Cartman replied, his voice quavering, as the portal opened again.

“ _This_ conditioning session is going to be a hundred times worse. You won't remember it, though, unless we order you to. You never do.”

“W-won't this, like, f-fuck up the f-future?” Cartman gasped, aiming a kick at the man's balls. He wasn't quite fast enough, though, and the man pulled out what must have been a taser. The shock made Cartman go limp.

“I'm _ensuring_ that future! I survived it, so will you!”

Cartman tried to scream, but found that his body wouldn't obey him.

And with that, the man pulled a terrified, helpless Eric Cartman into the portal, which closed behind them.

In Cartman's bunk, EC-2 slept. He even began to dream.

“...miss that...silly Jew,” he whimpered in his sleep.

_*_

Note: *Characters from _**Cartman's Silly Hate Crime 2000,**_ s04e02.

 


	38. Tweeked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek gets a look at the future during a night at the coffee shoppe. Kyle continues to struggle with his new state of existence. Tweek and Craig get more information than they needed or wanted, and the boys get a surprise visitor again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go. Hang in there.

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**38**

**Tweeked**

*****

_There's nothing as sad  
except tomorrow gone bad  
The future _ain't _what it used to be_  
Jim Steinman & Meat Loaf, ©2006

*****

“Something's wrong with Kyle,” Kenny McCormick told Stan Marsh, as the boys gathered at the bus stop Monday morning. Kyle and Keith seemed to be late.

“He seemed kinda disoriented?” Stan agreed.

Kenny nodded. He pulled out a menthol cigarette and lit it. He choked. “Oh! I _hate_ these things!”

“Then why'd you smoke it?” Butters asked.

“Old habits die hard after about forty-some years,” Kenny shrugged, as Kyle and Keith finally showed up. The weather was cooler as September progressed, and the clouds on the horizon even looked capable of snow. Kenny and Kyle both wore lightweight orange jackets, while Stan wore a tan Carhartt. Keith looked out of place in their sky blue one.

Only Keith wore a hat.

No one wore hats anymore.

They boarded the bus, noticing that Ms. Crabtree was in an uncommon good mood. She even managed to stop smoothly to pick up Craig & Those Guys.

Craig was on crutches, and Jimmy was busy telling him how he was doing it all wrong.

“Up you go,” Clyde and Token both gave Craig a shove up the bus steps.

“Mind the ass, now!” Craig exclaimed.

“Yeah before Tweek punches you!” Token snickered.

“HEY!” Tweek gasped.

“You g-get used t-to it!” Jimmy assured him, as they slung him on up too.

“Shouldn't you two be on the short bus?” Ms. Crabtree asked.

“Shouldn't _you_?” Craig retorted.

“Oh, I can't handle the clutch in that damn thing!” Ms. Crabtree replied.

“B-b-burn rubber!” Jimmy suggested, and she did that.

“How's the foot?” Stan asked Craig.

“Fractured,” Craig answered, deadpan.

“Be nice, Cupcake,” Tweek nudged him.

“Yeah, be nice, Cupcake,” Kenny snickered.

Craig flipped them all off.

“That'll never change,” Kyle nodded, noting the matching blue jackets with the pride flags on the sleeves. For just an instant, Kyle saw those other patches that Craig would add later.

“I was in the hospital for half the weekend thanks to you guys!” Craig accused them.

“B-beats being in P-Pehhhhh-Pe-hehe-peru!” Jimmy chuckled.

“Hey! How was that OUR fault?” Stan demanded.

“Oh, I dunno? How about that when I uncovered my _car_ this morning, I found it FULLY restored?!” Craig snapped, which made Kenny reach up and cover his mouth.

“Shhhhh!”

Craig bit him.

“OWWW!” Kenny jerked his hand away. “The _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

“Craaaaaig?” Tweek drawled through gritted teeth, “We agreed that you were going to listen to Keith first, remember?”

“It's that rock!” Craig accused Keith, “You used Tweek to...to...muck up the future!”

“Nrgh! Craig, please?” Tweek groaned.

“Something tells me we shouldn't be talking about this in public?” Token offered, jerking his head in Keith's direction.

“Got that right!” Keith hastily agreed.

“The whole point in all the work I've already _done_ ,” Craig complained, “Was ME doing the work!”

“And how do we explain it?” Tweek fretted. “I mean, I inherited the Lincoln, but geeze, guys?!”

“Look, like I said, it was probably a temporal micro-” Keith began, but Kyle interrupted.

“Move NOW, Token!” Kyle warned him, and Token did that just in time for Clyde to throw up all over the seat.

“It comes in handy, I suppose?” Craig raised an eyebrow at Kyle. “Being... _that way_?”

“Thought _you_ were that way?” Butters smiled. Craig flipped him the bird.

“What did you eat, Clyde?” Tweek growled at him, as Kyle pulled some wet wipes from his backpack. Stan fetched the cleanup kit from Ms. Crabtree, struggling not to puke, too.

He failed.

“The more, the m-merrier!” Jimmy laughed.

“He's warm,” Token pointed out, feeling Clyde's forehead.

“Oh, good job, Typhoid Clyde!” Butters sighed, “Now we'll _all_ have it.”

“You're taking this all pretty well, Craig?” Kyle wondered, as he helped Clyde clean up.

“What? That one of my old nemeses is a Metahuman, his new brother is a Drone from the year 3000, and Kenny's an Immortal from the future?” Craig said it without emotion. “Yeah, Stan explained it all last night when they discharged me and Tweek.”

“Right after the enemas,” Tweek mumbled, which got them all to laughing. “Do you have any idea what that nurse-”

“Yes,” Butters and Kenny both interrupted.

“And this doesn't bother you at all?” Token shrugged. “Just before Clyde hurled, you were sounding pretty pissed, Craig?”

“It's South Park, Token,” Craig sighed, as Clyde groaned. “I mean, I just realized that Kenny was gone for a year, then came back.”

“I tried to tell you,” Tweek offered nervously.

“Well, that's it. They've got the 'I remember Kenny' disease,” Kenny shrugged, smiling.

“Welcome to the club,” Stan mumbled. “Remembering the future yet, Craig?”

Craig turned white.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Butters pointed out.

“You too?” Craig wondered, as Tweek just held his hand and looked out the window.

“How do you _remember_ the future?” Token had to ask, and so Keith explained chronoton saturation to him. “That makes sense,” Token conceded.

“Really?” Tweek mumbled.

“No,” Token admitted.

“I...I should call Dad,” Clyde fretted, “If I get sick, it could-”

“Not anymore, Clyde,” Keith reminded him.

“So K-Kyle, just wh-what is your Mehhh...mehhh-hehhh-” Jimmy began.

“Metahuman ability?” Butters offered.

“Thanks, B-Butters!”

“Sorry I interrupted,” Clyde moaned, laying over in an empty seat.

“I don't think it's a good idea for you to know,” Kyle fudged it.

“Dude, you beamed into my garage, then beamed me to the hospital! Right after you made Tweek have a panic attack!” Craig reminded them. “And then you restored my car!”

“No, that was probably me. Sorry,” Keith reminded him. “And Tweek had a temp-”

“Never mind,” Tweek sighed, turning back to the window. Kyle's eyebrow went up.

“But you throw up better than Clyde does, Craig” Stan offered whimsically.

“He does _not_!” Clyde protested.

“Kyyyyyle?” Craig growled, as Tweek ignored them.

“Space and time don't mean anything to me, OK?” Kyle told them, as the bus stopped to pick up Kevin's Crew. “Let's leave it at that, OK?”

Bradley Biggle was conspicuous in his absence.

“So then, when I put the iridium ring in, it lit up, and my hand was all...” Kevin was telling his friends, making a whooshing sound. “It was like a vapor trail hand, like there were, I dunno? Dozens of _me_ working on the thing? I caused a temporal disruption!”

“Iridium?” Kenny whispered to Keith. “Where'd he get that?”

“Oh, fuck,” Stan sighed.

Keith shrugged. They eavesdropped.

“There was this flash of color, then it turned blue, and I was like, I dropped the ring, but then I dropped it like five times, and then I realized that I really had a hold of it! I think it's gonna work!” Kevin crowed.

“Yeah, in about thirty years,” Keith mumbled.

“So what's this thing supposed to do?” Douglas asked, as everyone was listening intently.

“If I can find something to keep the power steady, something that generates its own chronotons, and enough pure nickel to regulate the reactions with the iridium, it'll be a real working time machine – the size of a wristwatch!” Kevin exclaimed.

“There goes the future,” Kenny sighed.

“It already went,” Tweek muttered, but no one heard him.

“Hey, Kevin?” Keith spoke up, “Where's Bradley?”

Kevin blinked at him.

“He was in the same hospital room with us,” Craig put in. “Didn't you know?”

Kevin nodded. “Yeah, his m-mom called me,” Kevin admitted.

“You know that chronotons make him sick?” Keith told him pointedly. “So don't you think that whatever you're working on is a bad idea?”

“I, uhm, I...” Kevin fumbled.

“Build a Faraday Cage, with lead shielding,” Keith told him, “I can draw the plans for you. You set off another temporal surge, and you might just _kill_ Bradley!”

Kevin's face went pale.

“Could what he did create one of those temporal microfractures?” Craig asked Keith, which made every look the both of them oddly.

“Very possible,” Keith nodded, glaring at Kevin, “And as someone from the future, who'd really like to see your present stay the SAME as it WAS, my advice is to quit tinkering with things you don't understand!”

“To say nothing of that chronoton radiation you're soaking up,” Kenny added seriously. “Keith, didn't you say the counts you were tracking were low?”

“Did you tell anyone else about that meteorite of yours?” Stan whispered to Craig.

“No?”

“Good! Then don't! Especially Kevin!” Stan hissed.

“OH, very low,” Keith agreed. “I mean, they have to be going somewhere? Absorb enough of them, and one little thing sets them off, you could find yourself in the middle of the Andromeda galaxy at Christmas 2999!”

“Bad year?” Butters asked.

“It was the Millennium Bug,” Keith nodded.

Kevin gulped.

“Yeah, I mean we all know that Brad's an alien,” Douglas said, “But it probably shouldn't get out. I mean, the MIB's might come and like, dissect him, or something?”

“Or give him an anal probe?” Louis* fretted.

“No, that's the tall Grays, the Visitors,” Kyle corrected them, thinking of Cartman again. _Why remember that now?_

“I...I'm sorry! I w-won't mess with, until you and Bradley can go over it with me!” Kevin promised.

Keith smiled. Kyle had to admit that Keith was adorable when they did that. Well, that, and Keith probably knew it, too.

“I was abducted by aliens a few times!” Ms. Crabtree screeched at them.

“No shit?!” The boys all gasped. She then went into detail about it.

“AIGHHHHH!” The boys all groaned, as the bus stopped to pick up the girls at the next stop.

“Careful there, Bebe, Clyde's sick,” Token warned her.

“Chances are, I've already got it, then,” Bebe shrugged.

“Hey, Cuz, Tweek,” Red said to Craig, sitting in front of them. “How's the foot?”

“Broken,” Craig answered.

“Hey, Tweek!” Red greeted him, when Tweek didn't react.

“What? Oh, hi Red,” Tweek mumbled, before taking Craig's hand and then going back to staring out the window. His forehead bumped on the glass, but he didn't seem to notice.

“So, before Clyde interrupted us?” Craig reminded Kyle.

“I think the less that anyone knows about me, the better,” Kyle told Craig and the guys.

“Amen to that,” Keith muttered.

“And do you think that you could do that space-time thing to Red Racer again, so that I can actually restore her _myself_?” Craig asked snottily.

“Boy, now there's gratitude?” Token observed.

“Funny, the last time we tried to explain the time travel thing to you, Craig, you almost blew your cerebral cortex,” Kenny pointed out.

“Must be all the chronotons he's soaked up,” Keith shrugged.

Craig's eyes went wide.

“I will beat your time-traveling ass!” Craig snapped at him. “ME?!”

“We didn't restore the car, Craig, _you_ did,” Keith informed him.

Tweek was shivering, though. He only had to let off two little “nrgh's” before Craig noticed.

“Did that have anything to do...to do with me blowing up Father Maxi's organ?” Tweek asked, taking in a deep breath.

“Don't EVEN!” Butters warned everyone.

“Dude, _you're_ the one who blew up the pipe organ?” Brimmy gasped.

“Yes, that was Tweek,” Keith answered honestly, “It's how you were able to play that song, Tweek!” Keith smiled at Tweek, as the other boys' attention seemed to go back to Kevin's story.

“And that crack about him butt-raping the future?” Craig reminded them, his tone icy.

“Tweek's recording of _**Gloria**_ was one of the key elements in securing the future we need,” Keith nodded. “Thanks! It's going to be a total smash on Trent's album, as a guest track.”

“GAGH! That's way too much pressure!” Tweek squeaked.

“You already did it, and did it perfectly, Babe,” Craig reminded him, thinking of the odd dream he'd had of performing in high school.

“Is a Grammy too much pressure?” Keith asked.

Tweek clutched Craig's arm, his eyes wide.

“Craig, if you really want to do the car yourself, we can take it out and trash it?” Stan offered.

Craig glared at him.

Keith sighed. “I'll take a look at Kevin's iridium-thingies, and see what I can do, OK? Maybe I can locate a small fracture, and steer it into your garage?”

“Deal,” Craig conceded, as he went back to getting Tweek settled again. “And Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't _ever_ beam me out like that again!” Craig told him bluntly.

“Not if I don't have to,” Kyle promised, as the bus continued to fill up.

They were all surprised when Pete boarded alone, and asked to sit with Stan.

“Uh, sure?” Stan scooted over. “You OK?”

“I...I was attacked,” Pete muttered. “W-well, by that Eclipse kid. He was on the news, did you see?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“He made some trouble at Alamosa Juvie,” Pete explained.

“Guess we know where he went last night?” Butters whispered to Kenny.

“Did he...hurt you?” Craig asked.

“He...he...I'm not sure how he did it,” Pete told them, his voice strange. “He showed me how I was gonna die.”

Craig glared at Kyle. He glanced at Token and Clyde, then Jimmy, who didn't know.

Tweek and Craig knew, though.

Tweek was shivering again. Craig pulled him close.

“You and me, later!” Craig told Kyle.

“I'm going in to see the Counselor,” Pete was telling Stan. “I mean, I might get expelled. Just...thanks, OK?” Pete offered.

“No problem, Dude,” Stan assured him, “And I think it'll work out.”

“So, what did you and Keith do yesterday evening?” Kenny was asking Kyle, the noise level on the bus having increased enough for some privacy. He'd apparently not overheard Pete. “Leo and I were worried.”

“Bet you were,” Kyle sniffed.

“You always think the worst of me!” Kenny accused him.

“Because I'm usually right!” Kyle replied. “Just remember, I already know just about everything you'll ever tell me!”

“Things changed again?” Kenny leaned over to whisper.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Kyle answered. “For me. Call it an upgrade. **Pop quiz in history today**!” he then announced. Everyone gasped. “See what I mean?”

“Got the answers handy?” Kenny grinned. “No, seriously, it's that bad?”

“Now I know how the Borg feel,” Kyle nodded.

“Oh, hamburgers!” Butters fretted. “Well, just so you know, me and Ken went fishing, but we didn't catch much.”

“I think I'm gonna have to go home,” Clyde was moaning, having laid his head across Bebe's lap.

“OH get a room!” Craig sniffed.

“Not as disgusting as six kids later, with the first during Junior year,” Keith pointed out.

“Spoiler alert!” Token gasped.

“Ho-ho-holy shit!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“It's OK, he still gets the football scholarship, and then plays for Colorado State, before being signed by the Broncos,” Keith told them. Clyde, however, was too busy being babied to hear them.

“Clyde? Scholarship?” Tweek wondered, finally speaking up.

“One side effect of Ribozene is increased intelligence,” Keith shrugged.

 _OK, Class? What is 5 x 2? Mr. Garrison asked._  
Twelve? Clyde guessed.  
OK, now let's try to get an answer from someone who's not a complete retard!

Jimmy laughed so hard that he nearly choked.

“Thought you said you needed all those little Donovans, though?” Kenny reminded them.

“I do,” Keith sighed. “I guess I just don't get it.”

“s'OK, Kenny explained it all to me,” Kyle assured them. “I'll tell you all about it.”

“That should be a good one,” Kenny rolled his eyes. “So, what'd you do, then?”

“I went to see Cartman,” Kyle whispered to him.

“YOU WHAT?!” Kenny shouted, which made everyone jump, and nearly made Ms. Crabtree run off the road.

“Oh, well, uhm, how is Eric?” Butters wondered, “I'd go see him, but I'm afraid they'd keep me!”

“Remarkably well,” Kyle shrugged. “He's in good shape now.”

“ _Why_ , Kyle?” Kenny asked, shocked.

“I'll explain it later,” Kyle hissed, as the bus arrived at school.

“I can't wait to hear this,” Kenny sighed.

As they disembarked, Craig hopped down the steps. Tweek got his backpack on him and adjusted. “Later, Kyle?” Craig said again, as he and Tweek walked away.

“He looks pissed?” Stan remarked, and Clyde threw up in the bushes again.

“GROSS!” Everyone shouted.

“Delayed Ribozene reaction,” Keith shrugged, looking in his backpack for that future first aid kit. “Ah!” He exclaimed, holding up a smaller hypo. He injected Clyde's buttock, right through his pants. “Now you don't have to go home!”

“Thanks, awfully,” Clyde groaned. “I thought it was the green sauce!”

*

For the rest of the school day, Kyle was distracted. He put himself on auto-pilot, thus distracting Tomorrow-Kyle a bit.

 _See,_ I _knew you'd do this!  
That's nice, just get us through History, would ya?_

“You remember this quiz, Ken?” Butters asked before the class.

“Leo, that was two and a half lifetimes ago,” Kenny told him, “And I can't tune into a Kenny Collective.”

“There's a scary thought,” Stan grinned.

“You look like you don't know whether to have lunch, or make a valedictorian speech?” Kenny told Kyle.

“Tell you at lunch,” Kyle mumbled, and later, they did just that.

The five of them sat together at the rickety table at the far end of the cafeteria, usually the table that no one wanted.

“OK, spill it, Kyle!” Stan ordered him, “I've known you since...well...you're my first memory, OK? The fuck's wrong with you?”

“Tweek,” Kyle mumbled around a mouthful of cheeseburger.

Over at Craig's usual table, Tweek was picking at his mac'n'cheese. The decaff in his thermos was so strong that Stan's Gang could smell it.

“You should tell them, Kyle,” Keith suggested.

“Tell us what, Kyle?” Butters wondered. He laid a hand on Kyle's forearm. “Should I go get Scott?”

“No,” Kyle mumbled, pulling up his shirt.

“The hell's your pump?” Stan exclaimed.

“I don't need it anymore,” Kyle explained. “I upgraded.”

“To what?” Kenny asked.

“Upgraded. Me. As a … Being,” Kyle replied. “He fixed it?”

“Who?” Butters asked.

“HIM,” Kyle looked hard at Kenny, “The other day. After the hospital.”

“I think you need to start from when you beamed us outta Craig's garage?” Stan suggested.

And so Kyle did that. He told them all about the Void, and what had transpired there.

“You met GOD?!” Butters gasped.

“He was NOT God!” Kyle remained adamant about that.

“With all the butt-fuckery going on with the Universe that we've done, I'm surprised that He hasn't stepped in,” Kenny shrugged.

“Tweek set it off,” Kyle shrugged as well. “You said he wiped it all out, Keith? Or reset it? Old-Kyle said the same thing in the Void.”

“He sang one fuckin' song?” Stan wondered.

“Something he'd never done before, in any Timeline,” Kenny clarified. “And it was enough to blow Keith's future data-cruncher to bits?”

“He did that, all right,” Keith agreed.

“For all we know, that's not our Tweek,” Kyle suggested.

“Well, he doesn't have a goatee, and he's not mean, and he still loves his coffee, so it can't be Evil Tweek from the Alternate Universe,” Stan pointed out.

“Don't even go there,” Keith groaned.

“Look, guys, after coming back from the Void, and finding out I was...different, the block, uhm, broke. The block that's been keeping me from seeing the accident.”

“Tweek and Craig's crash?” Butters whispered, going pale.

Kyle nodded.

“And?” Stan pressed him.

“We did it?” Kyle held out his hands, as if to say, 'That's that! It's over.'

But he knew it wasn't over.

Not with what he'd seen.

Not with what he'd learned.

“You saw it?” Kenny scoffed, “You went there? Into _that_ you? You're telling me that you're there, out on 285, when it happens? Kyle, I got there _one_ time. You were not there!”

“I wasn't Eclipse then,” Kyle smirked with one side of his face. “If you recall, Kenny, you came to my house to tell me. Ma made food. Everyone came over when I called them.”

“It sucked,” Stan agreed. “I remember it.”

“I walked all the way, damn nigh froze,” Butters nodded.

“I was in full Eclipse garb, running at full power,” Kyle told them, “And I looked like I was the one who got hit by the truck. I told me that we'd won. And then-”

“That Eclipse turned to dust?” Stan interrupted.

Kyle nodded.

“The cemetery?” Kenny somehow knew, “That trans-time bullshit?”

Kyle nodded again.

“The angel statue turned to dust, too. There was only one gravestone there,” Kyle informed them.

He fell silent.

“Yours?” Stan breathed.

Kyle nodded.

“Kyle, you can't do it!” Stan barely managed to keep his voice down, and it came out in an odd, strangled tone.

“I won't be the first Jew to die for untold masses,” Kyle looked him straight in the eye. “This loop has to break, and I have to be the one to break it, Stan. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” Stan sniffed, wiping his inner arm across his face. “That's all you got to say about it? SORRY?!”

“I didn't hang around that long, OK?” Kyle went on. “I saw this blue explosion of some kind in the sky, and then I was in the cemetery. For all I know, I threw my consciousness back into some other Kyle. I think it might be me. Now.”

“But you just, uhm, just got done explaining what you are now, Kyle?” Butters reasoned, “And if you're not him, then doesn't that mean that you didn't do it? Does that make sense?”

“No,” Stan snapped, as Keith said, “Yes.”

“About as much sense as going to see Cartman,” Kenny complained. “You said you were gonna explain that, too?”

Kyle nodded again. He gave up on his lunch, passing it over to a pathetic-looking seventh grader they didn't know. The boy gratefully took it.

“He was there,” Kyle told them, “Cartman. He was there, in his mom's tan minivan. He caused the crash. But when I went to see him, I was so sure that he was like us? Able to remember the future? But he's not.” Kyle took a deep breath. “He had no clue what I was on about. He's got no foreknowledge. But he _is_ having a regular visitor.”

“A future Cartman?” Keith guessed.

Kyle nodded again.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. Kenny bonked his head on the table.

Butters gasped in shock. “I thought we got rid o'him?!”

“Apparently, one of them was able to hide far enough back to elude the changes to the Timeline,” Keith theorized. “It's possible to outrun it.”

“It was CEO Cartman, wasn't it?” Stan guessed.

“Yes,” Kyle confirmed. “He's been visiting regularly. I guess, giving our Cartman tips on how to live his life, so he doesn't wipe the CEO out, and turn him into a drug addict, train wreck of a mechanic again. That, and I sort of...downloaded his memory.”

“Awwwww,” Stan groaned, “Dude! Bleach your brain!”

“Wish I could,” Kyle sighed. “But guys, I was so sure it was there! So sure that Cartman knew it! But he doesn't? And yet, in the Timeline we've made now, Cartman still causes the crash! Why would he _do_ that?”

“You told him?” Kenny assumed.

“Yes, and he gave me this spiel about not wanting to hurt Tweek.”

“You didn't believe him, did you?” Butters gaped at Kyle.

“He wasn't lying,” Kyle shrugged again. “I was in his mind, guys, scary as that was. He's...sick...OK?” Kyle shivered, as a brief mental image of chains flashed by. Kyle wiped it at once. “But there was something odd there. Something I don't know how to explain. It was almost like...it was just out of reach?”

“I know what you mean,” Keith agreed. “Like Bryan Bourne, in the Robert Ludlum books? Classic literature. The program us Drones with stuff like that too.”

“Whadda'ya mean?” Kyle gasped.

“Every Drone has a hidden personality in his mind,” Keith explained, “It's triggered by a series of tones, delivered at certain frequencies. Until the key audio is played to one of us, we never know what it is, or what it makes us do. Most of us figure it's a self-termination command.”

“The fuck it is!” Kyle snarled, “We're deprogramming it tonight, then!”

“Dude, you're starting to scare me?” Stan offered, taking Kyle's hand. “Going into Cartman's brain? This thing with Keith? And what you were gonna do to Tweek?”

Kenny was looking at them with his index fingers steepled on the bridge of his nose, his fingers laced, where rested his chin.

“Music,” he mumbled.

“What?” Butters asked.

“Every time I was in that dream dimension, even before Keith, when they were Korx, came along, I was hearing this music. At first, I thought it was the wind. But the more times I heard it, when I was out on 285 in that dimension, the more I thought it was saying 'I love you', like the Stevie Nicks song. I don't think it was that now.”

“You think it was Tweek?” Stan wondered. “How?”

“Tweek went out of temporal phase alignment,” Keith explained, “He played the song. Father Maxi saw him. He said it was like an older Tweek was there, and that he was playing all three keyboards at once. His hands were a blur? And that was the exact point that my data scattered – the exact moment that it all shifted. When Craig's chronotons went off, it was localized in his garage, and blew up into the future. But what if Tweek's blew up in both directions?”

“There was never any of this time traveler shit before,” Kenny reasoned, “Unless we just didn't know about it? Or we were all shifting right along with it. Far as I know, I was the only one here,” He looked at Keith. “And you weren't here, either!”

“Like that was why you brought me in?” Stan reminded him, and Kenny nodded.

“You refused to quit dying on us; left us no choice!” Kenny smiled.

“So, you're saying that Cartman is some kind of Manchurian Candidate?” Kyle asked Keith.

“Very likely,” Keith replied.

“Why?” Butters asked.

“Because that's what _I'd_ do, if I had to insure a future for myself, from some clot like Cartman!” Keith answered.

The bell then rang.

As they got up to go, Tweek's eyes met Kyle's across the way.

 _What the hell is going on? What's wrong with me? Am I dying?! Oh, God!_ Kyle heard the thoughts from Tweek.

“We have another problem,” Kyle told his friends, nodding at Tweek.

“Why am I not surprised?” Stan groaned.

“Hope we don't have a lot of homework,” Kenny pointed out, “Because it looks like someone's in for a busy night?”

“Oh, well, uhm, I have to go home tonight, Ken,” Butters spoke up, “Aaron has a project for school that PC wants me to-” He stopped, realizing that they were all starting at him. Butters blushed deeply. He pushed his glasses back up.

“Awwwww,” Stan pinched his brow again.

“I can't get used to seeing Tweek in blue,” Kenny mumbled.

*

Monday evening at _**Tweak Bros. Coffee Shoppe**_ was normally steady, with those who either couldn't, or didn't want to, cook. Since taking over after his father's incarceration, Tweek had added to the menu and service. His loaded wraps were quite the item for dinner, along with a self-service soda fountain and urns.

The late afternoon, home-from-work rush had cleared out, but in a few hours, the place would begin to fill with students of all ages. Yet the shoppe wasn't totally deserted. At the counter sat one customer with an earthy-toned green cap. Judging from the muted colors and fashion statement, it was difficult to determine their gender.

Or lack thereof.

As they sipped an extra creamy decaff with double froth, they absently picked up the sugar container and poured in a generous helping.

The reaction of the blond boy wiping the counter was less than serene.

“ARE YOU IN **SANE**?!” Tweek screeched at him, grabbing the sugar and drink before Kyle could even react.

 _Didn't see that one coming, did you?  
No, I didn't?  
Doesn't work like that, _the older end of The Collective reminded him, _A sugar shaker is a little thing._

“Not insane, just healed,” Kyle answered in a soft voice. “But then, _you'd_ know all about that, wouldn't you, Tweek?” Kyle winked at him. “How's your heart?”

For a moment, Tweek didn't respond.

Then he shivered once. His head jerked to the left, his left eye clenched, and he uttered a strangled “NRGH!”

“You haven't had a bad twitch like that since, well...since you started seeing Craig?” Kyle observed. “You know, all day long, you've been acting like the Underpants Gnomes were stalking you again?”

“Kyle, I … can I tell you something?” Tweek looked around nervously.

“Sure?”

_It's the big stuff that's not gonna surprise-_

“I think I'm losing my mind, Kyle,” Tweek interrupted The Collective.

_We knew he was gonna say that.  
Thanks awfully, Guys._

Kyle thought his answer over carefully, but he already knew what he was going to say.

“I know. And you're not.”

“Kyle, what is _happening_?!” Tweek asked, his voice desperate. “Your pancreas, and my heart?”

“I only said I was healed?” Kyle replied. “And the hospital is calling _you_ a miracle,” Kyle countered. “Poor ol' Nurse Christina is beside herself, I hear?” Kyle retrieved his drink. “Tweek, what makes you think _I_ know anything?”

“You're not wearing your pump, and you're consuming sugar. I could see the LED's on it through your light shirts,” Tweek pointed out. He paused to pour himself a decaff. “Not that I need it, now?” He leaned on the counter, uncomfortably close.

For just an instant, Kyle felt an overwhelming urge to hug Tweek, to comfort him, as he might do for Ike when he'd hurt himself, or had a bad dream.

“Kyle, something is wrong here, and it's not just Keith coming back in time. I mean, we've seen him- _them_ before. Like New Year's? And they came now and then, to buy stuff. But this thing with my heart, and Craig's car? I...I don't buy this temporal iceberg thing, Kyle.”

“And you think _I_ know something?”

“You knew about the pop quiz in history today?” Tweek countered.

“That's _it_?” Kyle laughed, knowing what was coming. “I knew about one quiz, and now I'm a prophet?”

“No,” Tweek said flatly. “That night that Kenny was telling us things. I know you guys were dodging something. I'm not stupid, you know! Besides, I saw you stab Keith's time-watch, or whatever they calls it. You trapped Keith here on purpose, didn't you?” Tweek exclaimed.

“Yes,” Kyle admitted. “And?”

_Craig talks in his sleep..._

“And Craig talks in his sleep!” Tweek added.

It was Kyle's turn to twitch.

 _I guess they share a bed?_  
We're thirteen, guys.  
We and Keith share a bed?  
Didn't see that one coming, huh?  
Keith doesn't talk in their sleep.  
Never mind...

“You knew about Timmy, Jimmy, Clyde, Scott, and I know that Kenny's been talking to Craig,” Tweek continued, his voice calmer. “Look, just because we're out, and sorta dressing alike, go out to events, doesn't mean we're like...ready for youth conferences, and activist shit?” Tweek went on, despite Kyle trying to cut in. “That's one thing he talks about; he thinks we need to do more for the Community. And Keith's talk about that meteorite he gave me to pay his bill? The one I gave Craig? And now it's putting out chronoton particles? Kyle – my whole body is healed up, and Craig's car is restored! And all of it after I played that song!” Tweek's voice changed to a whimper. “After 'Put it Down', I know I got talent, OK? But I'm not a fucking Mozart on acid! Why the hell did Trent call ME?! WHY is ThiS hAppeNing to ME?!”

“Because you're good, Tweek. And Trent likes you. You guys were always kind to him, remember?” Kyle explained.

 _'Member?_  
Yeah, I 'member.  
Well, I don't? Trent?  
Give it a moment.

“Kyle,” Tweek came around the counter to sit on the stool next to him, “What did Keith mean when they said my song butt-r-, I mean, messed up the future?”

Kyle thought about the tablet he'd stolen from Cartman, and had yet to study. “Keith has a tablet, Tweek. He had a lot of data from the future, and they was trying to update it when your stored-up chronotons went off. While you were playing the song.” Kyle sighed and finished his drink. “Tweek, I don't wanna lay too much on you, because it's just not a good idea. But you and Craig are, well, pretty important to the future. The one that I think Keith wants, anyway. I think the song was the first step in guaranteeing that future. You never did that before. You've changed everything, they said!”

“It was pretty shitty, when that first Time Refugee guy came back,” Tweek nodded, surprising Kyle by not getting any more upset. Then again, Kyle realized, Tweek wasn't always like that. He didn't spend all his time freaking out about everything. In fact, when he put his mind to it, Tweek was skilled in a lot of things; Kyle had seen the model war machines that Tweek liked to build. Hell, the kid even had a two-handed broadsword in his room! And he could meditate for hours.

“I remember the first time Korx came in here,” Tweek went on. “I was cleaning up, later that night. Bunch of mom and dad's friends were in here, watching the news on the TV. He...they didn't even speak English then. Just looked around, followed me into the back. Didn't know any better, I guess. I was tossing out the two-day-old donuts and stuff.” Tweek sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “He almost went hysterical, Kyle, he-they...was so hungry. He took all the waste, Kyle. He ate some, I packed the rest for him, and he hugged me and just... just cried.”

“Guess that was before they underwent full Drone training?” Kyle mused.

“Whadda'ya mean?” Tweek asked.

“That was when they were...new? I guess that's a good a word for it. Tweek, Keith's a specially manufactured Drone. I guess they were on the lam, that first time? They've been trained since.”

“As?”

“A mercenary, for one,” Kyle shuddered.

“OH!” Tweek gasped. “Well, I dunno, lately I just feel like you guys are trying to avoid me, or hide something from me,” Tweek changed the subject awkwardly, refilling their drinks. “Especially Keith. Even Craig's been treating me like a baby. He banned me from the garage, you know. And it's all this: 'Tweek, did you take your meds? Tweek, calm down. Tweek, brush your teeth. Tweek, it's time for bed, and you're staying tonight.'”

“Not that it matters now,” Kyle shrugged, “Craig's own chron-”

“And we _both_ blew up at the same time?” Tweek interrupted. “Really? Kyyyyyle,” he sighed again, “I'm not _stupid_! PLEASE tell me what's going on? Next thing, he'll be trying to spoon-feed me!”

“I can't. Let me _show_ you instead,” Kyle offered his hand, already knowing what he was going to do.

Where they were going to go.

Ripples be damned.

_Do it with a memory projection!  
Good idea!_

Tweek took it.

The coffee shoppe began to change.

Then the place was filled with teenagers. Music was playing, the Christmas decorations were gone, and there were even couples dancing in the center of the room. Stan and Wendy were in a small booth. So were Lisa and Scott. Clyde and Bebe were dancing. Just about everyone was there, even Kenny and Butters. Craig was leaning over the counter, telling Tweek something.

Kyle gasped as Craig then grabbed Tweek's apron, pulling him over the counter and kissing him squarely on the mouth. It wasn't a peck, either. It was a passionate kiss that made Tweek drop his order pad in the sink. Several people whistled and clapped. Craig just raised his eyebrows as he broke the kiss, waving. Kyle noticed the Gay Pride flag sewn on his jacket sleeve, along with a couple of gold hash marks like the military rank of Corporal. And a patch with a Japanese character, too. There was a _**Star Trek**_ pin on the left breast, and Craig had a fresh haircut.

There weren't two Kyles and Tweeks, though. Kyle was once again on the stool, just as he remembered, and Tweek had just dropped his order pad in the sink. This time, however, Kyle didn't stand up. Craig wouldn't have to grab him and steady him.

Tweek was looking confused as he leaned on the counter.

_Slick move, sliding on up here, and bringing Tweek along!_

“So that's it, then, Babe? We're going to the conference in Denver. They're thrilled about having a pair of speakers who came out in a small town when they were ten,” Craig was saying, just as Kenny walked up.

Kyle noticed that Kenny looked just as shabby as he always had, but as he approached the couple, his appearance changed. He glanced at Kyle and winked. Now Kenny was clean and presentable, healthy-looking. But Kyle remembered that Kenny was about to talk to Craig.

“Just remember what I said about 285,” Kenny reminded Craig, “Under no circumstances do you drive on 285!”

“I told you, we wanna leave early and take the scenic route along 73,” Craig smiled. “Ken, you've been on this rant for like four years!”

“And if you'd listen to me, I wouldn't have to be,” Kenny informed him, pulling Craig aside to read him 'the riot act' again.

“Kyle,” Tweek hissed through gritted teeth, “Wh-what the fuck is THIS?!”

“Three years or so into the future, at least, the future we _want_ ,” Kyle whispered back. “I've been here before. This was the first glimpse of the future I ever had.”

“Craig!” Tweek exclaimed, reaching for him, but then the shop was empty again. Tweek slumped over the counter, breathing hard.

“Give it a sec, the first time can really suck,” Kyle advised, getting Tweek back to a stool and propping him up. “Just be still a minute. Breathe. We weren't physically there; only our consciousnesses.” He fetched Tweek a fresh coffee.

“Oh, shit, Dude! C-Craig was...was s-so-”

“Grown up?” Kyle cut in. “What's the word? Swarthy?”

“No. **Hot**!” Tweek gasped, looking flushed.

“I wouldn't know,” Kyle shrugged, remembering his talk with Kenny in the Void.

“Everyone thinks he's a Vulcan or something,” Tweek shook his head, “The way he's in control of himself all the time. But you know what, Kyle?” Tweek paused. “He's not. He cries sometimes, at night, when he thinks I'm asleep.”

_That's because he knows._

“That's because he knows,” Kyle told Tweek. “And now that it's happened to you, skipping around the Timeline, I think _you_ know some things, too?”

“From what Kenny told him?” Tweek asked, and Kyle nodded. “But how does Kenny know? Did Korx – I mean, Keith – tell him?” Tweek then paused. He grinned a little. “No, that's silly! I mean, the only other reason would be that Kenny's from the future too.”

Kyle said nothing at all.

Slowly, it seemed to dawn on Tweek. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Again, Kyle could almost see the cartoon light bulb coming on over the blond's head.

“I...I was the f-fourth friend? You voted me in...because...b-because Kenny...died?” Tweek stammered. Tweek's eyes widened further. For just an instant, Kyle almost smiled as he thought of Tweek's famous line: “Too much pressure!”

Instead, Tweek lowered his gaze to stare down at his hands.

Hands that had played an impossible score.

Hands that had altered the future.

“I...I had a few dreams like that,” Tweek admitted. “After the whole Cthulhu thing, and Kenny, and Bradley. I mean, I wasn't there – but Clyde talked about it some. Tweek was silent for a bit as he sipped his coffee. “You're Eclipse, _aren't_ you, Kyle?” Tweek then asked. “And you just took us to the future?”

Kyle nodded.

“Eclipse is a time traveler?” Tweek gaped.

“Sorta. And more,” Kyle nodded.

“And you know what's gonna happen?”

Again, Kyle nodded.

“I'm gonna die, ain't I?” Tweek then managed to surprise Kyle.

 _He never asked that before!_  
He has now!  
Well for fuck's sake, DON'T tell him!

When Kyle didn't answer, Tweek put his hand on Kyle's upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Soft flannel over an old Tegridy Farms T-shirt.

“Sometimes, when he dreams, Craig is talking to Clyde,” Tweek persisted. “He...he blames himself. For killing me.”

 _Stan remembers Pete jumping off the water tower._  
We all remember Clyde dying of cancer.  
Timmy died.  
So did Jimmy.  
Butters even died once.  
And Trent.  
We killed Trent.  
And we all still remember it. Why would Craig be any different?

“There is...a tipping point,” Kyle fumbled, looking for a way to tell Tweek what was going on, without just saying, “Yeah, you died! In fact, Kenny and me have been watching you die, over and over, for eons now!” He also noticed that it was taking a great deal of concentration to keep himself and Tweek separated, as far as 'being', as Kyle had no other word for it.

Having been Craig Tucker once before had been enough; Kyle didn't want to be Tweek Tweak.

_It's hard enough just being me, as it is.  
We're trying to not spoil everything, you know._

“He dreams about crashing Red Racer, Kyle,” Tweek told him. “Out on 285, just past Conifer. Before we could get off on 73*.”

“He isn't supposed to go on 285,” Kyle reminded Tweek.

“Yeah, but 73 will be closed,” Tweek replied. Then he winced. “HOW do I know that?!”

 _73 will be closed._  
It was closed, yes. Police rerouted cars to 285.  
So what closes it?

“And what do _you_ dream about, Tweek?” Kyle asked interestedly.

“Models. Music. Stripe. The lake?” He took another sip. “Sometimes, being in the hospital.” Tweek then gave him an inquisitive look, and Kyle nodded. They'd all heard about Tweek's special meditation place. “Lately, I dream about Craig, working on the car, riding in the car, and practicing.” He grunted. “Oh God, how am I ever gonna pay for Father's organ?!”

“I'll take care of it,” Kyle promised.

“You can _do_ that?” Tweek gasped.

Kyle nodded, already knowing that it wasn't enough to distract Tweek. That was one defining trait of Tweek's personality: once he got hold of something, he was like a snapping turtle that wouldn't let go of it.

“I'm gonna die in that car, ain't I?” Tweek asked again.

“Not anymore,” Kyle answered, honestly, to the best of his knowledge.

“So...? Before the future changed, I died?” Tweek wondered. “That's why Keith is here, and why Kenny's an Immortal, isn't it?”

_He's taking this better than we thought he would?_

“It's a little more complicated than that, but...yes,” Kyle admitted.

“Is that why you're a real Metahuman, too?” Tweek asked softly, reaching for Kyle's hand. “You want another coffee, before the evening-”

Skin touched skin.

Kyle was distracted.

Kyle-Tweek looked around the shoppe.

 _Well, now we've done it!_  
Shit, this wasn't supposed to happen...  
Cerebral hemorrhage?  
Heart attack?  
Total neural shutdown from shock?

“Oh...Jesus...help...me...through...this!” Kyle-Tweek breathed.

Kyle pulled his hand away, sure that Tweek was going to faint.

But he didn't.

He instead put his head down on his folded arms and remained silent.

Moments later, the bell on the door jingled.

“What happened?” Kenny demanded, his bike fallen over in the cleared flowerbed out front. “I was coming down anyway, and I felt this-”

“I slipped again,” Kyle shrugged, inclining his head at Tweek. “He grabbed my hand, and I wasn't ready for it.”

“Shit!” Kenny hissed. “How much does he know?”

Tweek looked up at them with tears welling up in his eyes.

“All of it,” the boy rasped, downing the last of his coffee and going for more.

“Dammit _anyway_ , Kyle!” Kenny threw his hands up in the air. “And where the hell is Keith?”

“They're over at Kevin Stoley's house!” Kyle snapped in reply. “Working on that project of his. You know, it's not like we're a couple joined at the hip!”

Overhead, a set of fluorescent light bulbs popped.*

Tweek had iced and creamed the hot coffee and was gulping it.

“Steady now, Tweek. Just because your heart's fine now, doesn't mean that you-” Kenny began, but Tweek was backing up until he hit the back counter. His eyes were wide again, and locked on Kenny. “Oh, great! Just fuckin' great!” Kenny threw up his hands. “I wonder what _this_ just did to Keith's future graphs now?”

“Not a lot,” Kyle's choral voice replied, his eyes distant and glowing.

“AIGH!” Tweek screamed, tossing his nearly empty drink. Kenny caught the cup.

“He used to throw donuts at me, when he was upset,” Kenny shrugged, “Back in the bad old days.”

“B-bagels. Old bagels with cream cheese. Karen likes those,” Tweek mumbled. “I...I have to turn the heat up! Clyde will be here tonight. He gets cold, you know, and it's his first night out since chemo...” Tweek began to ramble. “And Mr. Hastings! Yes, cream cheese danish. Do I have those ready? Ever since Teddy d-...” Tweek's voice trailed off. “He...he calls _me_ Teddy, sometimes?” Tweek offered, after finding the pastries he was looking for.

Kyle and Kenny just watched him.

“Give him a moment, it'll come to him,” Kyle said, sending out a mental probe of sorts.

Ike's Gang was two blocks away, and moments later, they all walked in as Tweek was still trying to sort out his altered memories.

“You put ketchup on latkes?” Tweek wondered.

“Might take a bit longer?” Kyle shrugged.

“Am I Jewish now?” Tweek wondered, cocking his head.

“Can't you just, like, suck it back out?” Kenny complained, spinning his index finger by his own ear.

“Customers?” Kyle suggested.

“Hey, Tweek!” The younger boys all greeted him.

“T-Teddy?” Tweek gasped, staring at the boy in the green chullo hat standing there next to the boy in the blue insulated vest.

“Steady now,” Kyle encouraged Tweek, as their eyes met.

“Thought you went to Kevin's for his science project with Keith?” Ike asked Kyle.

“Get what you want, Ike. It's on me,” Kyle offered, thinking of the gold nugget he'd created at the lake to scare Cartman.

_Just give me the gold, Kyle! The bag of Jew-Gold in the pouch around your neck!_

“Why you so nervous, Tweek?” Teddy asked.

Tweek smiled at him. “I...uhm, no reason!” He replied, as he served the boys and adjusted Kyle's tab.

“Tweek, are you in any condition to close tonight?” Kenny asked, when the boys left. “You know everybody's probably coming over, just like we usually do on Monday nights.”

Tweek looked around the room again. His shivering seemed to be subsiding, and his color was returning.

“I think so,” Tweek answered, his eyes moving back and forth between the two of them. “You guys can't do this,” he then declared, “You can't do this – not for _me_!”

“Why not? We did it for Teddy?” Kenny asked in reply.

“Teddy?” Tweek breathed, “He's not dead?”

“Obviously not,” Kyle shrugged.

“YOU CHANGED TIME!” Tweek blurted, “But why do I remember he was dead? OH GOD!”

“Taking a bit longer than I thought?” Kyle shrugged at Kenny.

“How far does it go, Tweek?” Kenny inquired in a tone that brooked no argument. “How far ahead did you see?”

“A semi hit us head-on, on the highway,” Tweek mumbled, as he began preparing for the evening crowd. He was taking slow, deep breaths. “I...I remember seeing f-four lights?”

“Fog lights, probably,” Kenny lied, elbowing Kyle's ribs.

“Craig hit the brakes, but then he...he slammed the gas and cut the wheel? The tires were screaming?” Tweek added. “It ends with a loud bang? Tha's all I remember?”

“He tries to pull off what's called a 'J-whip' move, and this time, it'll work,” Kyle informed him. “But it'd be best to not talk about it.”

“Y-you tried to prevent it?” Tweek asked Kenny.

Kenny nodded. “And I failed. Twice.”

“So, you _are_ from the future? Like Keith?” Tweek wondered of Kenny.

“He's taking this very well?” Kenny inquired of Kyle in an urbane tone.

“Whadda'ya expect? I just accidentally mind-melded with him?” Kyle shrugged. “Sorry, Tweek!”

“s'OK?” Tweek mumbled, still obviously confused. “I think? Can I eat ham, still?”

“Yes,” Kyle assured him.

“Fucking meteorite,” Kenny complained, “This is all the fault of one god-damn space rock that falls out there on 285 a couple centuries from now, or whenever the fuck it hits!”

“Craig's meteorite?” Tweek wondered.

“Yeah, it's what the Futurists used for a power core to run their time machine,” Kyle explained.

“SHIT! They'll send the Terminator back after me and Craig to get it!” Tweek squeaked in alarm.

“Just...Tweeeeek? _OK_?” Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose and put his head down on the counter. “From _Clyde_ I expect it, but you?”

“No power core in the year 3000, so, no battery to run the time machine?” Kyle pointed out. “Tweek, you're shocky,” he added.

“Yeah, I should sit down,” Tweek nodded, as Craig texted that he'd be a bit late. Tweek stared at his phone. “Keith and Kevin are trying to maneuver a temporal iceberg over Craig's car? What's that mean?”

“Craig's personal chronotons turned his car into how it was when it was new,” Kenny explained. “So Keith is going to try and put it back. They thinks – think? - there's fractures in time floating around this town. Craig wants to restore the car himself.”

Tweek made a disturbed face.

“He's constipated,” Kyle surmised.

“No, not hardly! Not after that Sunday night enema the nurse gave me!” Tweek exclaimed. He went to get a clean apron. “Evening crowd will be in soon.”

“You got homework?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah.”

“Go do it. Sit,” Kenny added. “We'll handle it. We've done it before.”

“No, you haven't?” Tweek pointed out.

“We will,” Kyle shrugged, “Same goes for me.”

“What _are_ you, exactly?” Tweek wondered.

“God,” Kenny put in with a sniff.

Tweek gasped.

Kyle punched Kenny's arm. Hard.

“HEY! That hurt, ya dildo!”

“ _ **What**_ did I say about that?!” Kyle demanded.

“Sorry!” Kenny offered, as a white apron with a name tag pixelated into existence on him. “Thanks,” Kenny muttered.

“Just because HE doesn't like you, doesn't mean that I-”

“Doesn't LIKE me?!” Kenny squeaked. “ _I'm_ the one doing HIS dirty work!”

“Look, Tweek,” Kyle ignored Kenny, who was poking at his ribs to antagonize him, “It's best that you not know. There's too much at stake.”

“Never mind the temporal assassination squads,” Kenny smirked, going over to look at the jukebox. “ _ **Bat Out of Hell 3**_? Meat Loaf? That came out in 2006. Good year.”

“We were seventeen,” Kyle nodded.

“That doesn't make sense?” Tweek wondered, as he sat down with a decaff and a whole can of whipped cream.

“I was eight in 1997,” Kenny offered. “Red Racer was 20.”

“Red Racer was rotting in a barn,” Kyle muttered, as he took Tweek's apron.

“I...I thought Teddy died?” Tweek asked, “But as soon as I saw him, I knew he didn't? Didn't I tell you about it once, Kyle?”

“No, you will in a few years,” Kyle explained, as Token and Clyde came in. Jimmy soon followed.

“D-don't hold the f-fuh-fuh-fuckin' door, bitches!” Jimmy joked.

“You sick, Tweek?” Clyde asked, “Maybe Keith has some of that stuff he shot me in the butt with?”

Kenny had entered the administrative pass code into the jukebox and was playing the album.

“Craig's idea,” Tweek pointed out, “He loves that guy.”

“W-whadda'ya expect? He's gay for the 80's!” Jimmy grinned.

“You put one of Trent's albums in here?” Kenny asked.

“Doesn't get much play, but for some of the girls,” Tweek shrugged. “Well, I sorta like some of the songs,” he added, blushing. “I remember he was in prison,” Tweek stated, as he was getting his homework out. “He started a fire, but then Kyle peed on him?”

Kenny groaned again as Tweek got that one wrong.

“Barkeep, I'll have a large half-caff soy latte with extra froth and nutmeg,” Clyde smiled at Kyle. Clyde blinked. “Yeah, Trent – juvie? so do I?”

“M-mean kid,” Jimmy agreed.

“Was this one of Keith's time icebergs, maybe?” Token wondered. “Because I remember it too! Only, Trent's the sweetest kid I know? Well, maybe next to Pip?”

“P-P-Pip?” Jimmy went a bit pale.

“Yeah, but I remember Kyle busting Trent's nuts in preschool. He was a mean kid before that,” Kenny reminded them. “And, no, guys,” he got ahead of them, “You're not crazy. It's one of those time-fractures that Keith talked about,” Kenny sort of stretched the truth. “The same thing that happened with Chef.”

They all went pale at that remark. Even Token.

“So, c-could this h-happen to any of us?” Jimmy asked.

“Would we even know if it did?” Clyde put in. “I mean, if time changed, we'd change too!”

“Very good, those shots Keith gave you really helped!” Token patted his back.

“Thanks!” Clyde smiled. Then it hit him. “Hey! I'm not _that_ dumb!”

“You're getting smarter, and healthier,” Kyle told him, adjusting his new apron.

“What about you, Kyle?” Token asked, as the boys got down to homework with Tweek.

“I, uhm, I'm fine,” Kyle replied. “Keith had some, uhhh...meds.” He glanced at Jimmy.

“It's f-fine, Kyle. I figure, to t-treat cerebral p-pal-pahhhhhl...”

“Palsy,” Clyde helped out.

“They'd n-need a f-future hospital?” Jimmy finished, just as the door bells jingled.

“Well, hey, fellas!” Butters greeted them, as he and Stan walked in with PC Principal.

“All right, listen up! I want you home at nine, Leopold,” the man told him, “And no caffeine! You know what it does to you. And, uhm, Kyle?” he looked over his sunglasses.

“Filling in for Tweek, sir!”

“Right! And no more than two drinks!” PC Principal reminded Butters, who blushed. “Kyle, I need some of those … things … you know?”

Kyle pulled out two cream horns and wrapped them.

“How'd you know?” PC Principal wondered.

“Lucky guess, sir!”

The man looked around as if he expected to be arrested, paid Kyle, then sneaked out the back door. The boys all laughed.

“Why two drinks?” Token asked Butters, “Or do we wanna know?”

“Uhm, I can't sleep, if I do,” Butters replied, blushing again.

“Decaff?” Clyde asked.

“It's not that,” Butters blushed deeper.

Kenny was still staring at the jukebox, his back to them. Tweek was humming along with the song as they battled introductory algebra.

“And to think, we're still at this in high school,” Kenny muttered. “Don't divide by the variable, kids, 'x' might be 0, and that's bad. Actually, it's 'infinity', but that's college algebra!”

“Easy for you to say, good at this shit as you are now,” Clyde commented.

“It'll be easy for you too, pretty soon,” Kenny sighed, hands in his pockets, staring out the window. “I could teach that class by now.”

“Kenny?” Kyle sort of growled.

“You said, Saturday, that we needed to have a talk?” Token reminded him, “But somehow, we all got sidetracked?”

“Homework first,” Kyle decided, and so they did that.

“Yes, Mom,” Clyde snickered.

He then looked up sharply. His eyes filled.

“Check your phone, Clyde. Call her,” Kenny advised.

Kyle spit his drink all over the counter.

“You didn't!? KENNY!” Kyle blurted.

 _He did_ , The Collective confirmed.  
 _You could have told me-us?!  
Make up our mind, Kyle!_

“I asked Keith first,” Kenny replied smugly.

“M-Mom? I...Mom's alive? But I...k-killed her?” Clyde gasped. “The t-toilet seat?”

“You're welcome,” Kenny put in.

“This is g-getting creepy?” Jimmy observed. “I r-remember it too? I m-made a horrible joke ab-b-bout it?”

Clyde had to pause to call his mother.

They were just finishing up when Keith arrived, with the first few of the evening crowd.

“Well, we fixed the car,” Craig smiled proudly, hobbling in on his crutches.

“I thought it _was_ fixed?” Tweek asked, as they exchanged a quick peck. A few of the others gave them a look, as Kyle took orders from real customers.

“Being gay isn't a choice, it's a game, and I'm winning!” Craig declared, for the benefit of those staring.

“We isolated a fracture, and managed to roll the car back to about 1989,” Keith shrugged, ignoring Craig's comment. “It's in need of a moderate restoration. Best I could do.”

“You had a perfect car, worth a mint, and you had Keith time-zap it?” Clyde gaped at Craig. “What if one of those time-bergs hits me? What if _I_ get rolled back to '89?”

“Then you'd be a baby,” Token answered. He paused. “Hang on?”

“It's starting to rub off on you,” Keith shrugged.

“Yeah, wasn't Clinton in office when we were 8?” Butters asked. “I remember Hillary coming here! She had a Snuke in her...well, you know?”

“Hopefully, this all gets fixed in about three years,” Kenny pointed out. “Shit. Thirteen _again_ ,” he sighed.

“Better this time around, though?” Butters asked him, which made them all look up. “What?”

“Butters, we haven't explained it to them yet,” Stan reminded him, “Or have we?”

The bell jingled again, as The Goth Kids arrived, including Pete. For the Goth Kids, they seemed outright happy about something. Kyle served them coffee and pastry, and Tweek reminded them to turn the old exhaust fan on in the window at the far corner table.

“It's illegal to smoke in here?” Token pointed out.

“Yeah, but I get their money, and Village Inn doesn't,” Tweek explained.

As the evening rush set in, Tweek offered to help Kyle and Kenny, but Kyle wasn't having it. Tweek was impressed with how good of a shift manager Kyle was.

“He's cheating,” Stan whispered to Butters, as they finally finished their English homework.

The gang then gathered at the far end of the counter, so that Kyle and Kenny could explain to them what had been happening in South Park.

Some of it, at least.

Certainly, not all of it.

“That explains a lot!” Token nodded to Keith, when Stan's Gang had explained.

“So, in about three years, time should reset to normal in this crazy town?” Clyde asked.

“Yes,” Keith assured him.

“Hang on,” Clyde held up his hand, “So, in three years, an explosion in time sends Kenny back to being 12 again? So he can do this all over again? How's he gonna get out of it? Won't he be 12 to 16 forever?”

“No,” Keith explained, “Once this loop breaks, the Kenny we've got now should reintegrate with the Kenny who's being sent back. Time will resume its normal shape, and Kenny will move on. Besides, the Maestro here,” he smiled at Tweek, “Has made sufficient changes to the future, too! You could say the future's been _Tweeked_!”

“Awwwww!” they all groaned at the bad pun.

“My head hurts,” Butters groaned, finishing his second drink.

“Don't tell anyone about this shit,” Craig suggested.

“Who'd _believe_ us?!” Token exclaimed.

“Just don't mention Kyle, OK?” Kenny added.

“What about Kyle?” Clyde wondered. “It's not like he's a Metahuman or something?”

“Y-yeah!” Jimmy laughed, “You'd th-think he was Eclipse, or s-some-something!”

Kenny looked sharply at Kyle.

“ _It had to be done,”_ Kyle's voice echoed in Kenny's head.

“So on top of all this,” Token wondered, “You're saying that some kind of time-wave – oscillation fixed up Tweek?”

“That's great! I know what a relief that is,” Clyde congratulated Tweek.

“Uhhh, thanks,” Tweek grinned weakly, giving Kyle a stunned look.

 _You're not crazy, Tweek. Your song really did...will...change the future,_ Kyle spoke in Tweek's mind.

“Oh, God!” Tweek gasped again. “DONUTS! We have to prep the morning donuts, CRAIG!”

“Did you mess up my boyfriend?” Craig asked Kyle discretely.

“Just a touch?” Kyle held his thumb and forefinger up a little apart.

“Probably a good idea, because the next Science test is gonna suck, hard!” Craig told them. “Sorry, must be those time particles?” He shrugged.

When the evening crowd had dispersed, the boys helped clean up. Some of the boys were picked up by nine, while others walked home.

Stan's Gang escorted Tweek, then Craig, home. As he was on crutches, they called Timmy's _**Handi-Car**_ for him.

“You tampered with their memories?” Kenny accused Kyle.

“I had to,” Kyle repeated. “We can't take the chance of anyone finding out! Especially Clyde.”

“But you let _us_ remember?” Tweek asked, as they arrived at his house.

The boys gave Tweek and Craig a moment to say goodnight.

“Gay,” Timmy pointed out happily.

“Very,” Stan shrugged.

“You two are in too deep to _not_ know,” Kyle told them.

“So, we just act natural for three years, and I drive carefully?” Craig shrugged, but it was clear from the look on his face that he didn't like it.

“And try not to think about it,” Kyle suggested to them both.

By the time they arrived at Craig's house, Craig was still grouchy about it. He did tip Timmy with the phone app, though.

“Make sure Timmy forgets,” Kenny muttered to Kyle.

“How much does Tweek know?” Craig demanded.

“All of it,” Kenny glanced at Kyle. “Right?”

Kyle nodded.

“YOU TOLD HIM?!” Craig yelled.

“So, _you_ knew after all?” Keith countered.

Craig hung his head.

“I...I've been having nightmares. Yes,” Craig admitted. “I didn't wanna upset him.”

“He already knew about that, too,” Kyle told Craig. “And Craig? Stop babying him, OK? Tweek's fine now. I think he'll surprise you, if you let him.”

“So keep the rock covered up with the lead cloth, OK?” Keith reminded him. “No more than a few minutes of staring at it per day! I'll try and keep the chronotons cleaned up.”

“OK,” Craig sighed in defeat, unusual for him. “Besides, Red Racer won't be running for a while now.”

“It _was_ perfect!” Stan complained.

“That's not the _point_!” Craig repeated, sounding agitated.

“Whadda'ya know? He _is_ capable of emotion?” Stan chuckled.

“This is all _your_ fault,” Craig threw up his hands, and went inside without so much as a 'goodnight'.

“Craig's back to normal?” Kenny laughed, as they all headed for home.

“Yeah, but is the future still in one piece?” Butters wondered, realizing that he was late.

“You'll be fine, you helped close,” Kyle assured him, as Butters vanished in a swirl of pixelation.

“Send him home?” Kenny asked.

“He's safely in his bed,” Kyle nodded. “Has been since 8:54!”

“Sneaky,” Stan grinned. Then he looked down. “Uh, Kyle?” He pointed at the pile of empty clothes.

Kenny burst out laughing.

“Awww, shit!” Kyle exclaimed. “I _hate_ it when I do that!”

“I don't?” Kenny gasped, gathering up Butters' clothing.

“WOULD you?” Keith rolled their eyes.

“Sorry. He's just so damn adorable,” Kenny shrugged.

“KENNY!” Stan nearly shouted.

“Oh, like you and _Wendy_ don't fool around!” Kenny accused him.

“We _don't_!” Stan countered.

“You _don't_?” Keith gasped. “Why _not_?”

Stan blushed. “Well, _you_ don't?”

“I'm a _Drone_!” Keith reminded him. “And if your first son doesn't-”

“LA LA LA!” Stan stuck his fingers in his ears, his face red.

“C'mon, let's go home, I'm tired,” Kyle suggested to his brother.

“B-but Stan and Wendy? They have to-?” Keith protested, but Kyle covered his mouth.

“Not going there, Brother-mine!”

“Tired, huh?” Kenny was still grinning. He snapped his fingers. “Right. Drone versus Agender. I forgot.”

“Good _night_ ,” Stan turned around to walk home. Kenny did the same, as he lived in the same direction.* Stan let Kenny have a head start, though.

“Looks like you did it again, Hero?” Stan told Kyle.

He then kissed Kyle's forehead.

Stan Marsh turned, and walked off into the glare of the streetlights with his head down.

“He knows that you know?” Keith asked Kyle.

“Yeah, and he knows that I know that he knows,” Kyle replied.

“How'd he take it?” Keith asked.

“Not too well, but he's not on about it,” Kyle sighed. “You?”

“I knew already,” Keith admitted. “But if I know you, you'll get out of it somehow!”

Kyle put his arm around Keith's shoulders, as Keith did the same. They were about a block from home, deciding to walk, when Kyle felt a chill go up his spine.

 _Turn around_ , The Collective said, _Now_!

“Hell _o,_ Kahl,” A familiar voice greeted them.

Kyle and Keith stopped. They turned to see another boy following them.

“ **Cartman**!” Kyle said coldly, “Why am I _not_ surprised?”

 _And why am I not surprised?_   Mysterion thought, watching from a rooftop across the way.

*

*Notes: Louis Tripply, red and black scarf boy.  
Map: 285 runs through Conifer, which the boys set out for on foot once to return “The Lord of the Rings” to the video store. 73 and Barkley Rd. are real. I checked.  
Blown lights: “Cartman's Incredible Gift”; Kyle got mad and the lights exploded. Further proof that he had powers.  
“Quintuplets 2000” - Stan lives on the same street as Kenny.

 


	39. Total Eclipse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle jumps ahead to Junior Year, to prepare them to prevent the crash. Loose ends gets tied up, but time shifts again as Cartman(s) tries to intervene. Events past and future are recapped, but will Kyle's & Kenny's plans succeed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a LONG one, at nearly 13k words. I'm sorry, but it was necessary to tie up the plot. That, and I didn't want 41 chapters! If you get lost, that's OK. My outline is such a mess, that I got lost, too. There will be one closing chapter soon, and then, that's it!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**39**

**Total Eclipse**

*****

_I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark_  
We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks  
I really need you tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight

_©1983 Bonnie Tyler, “Total Eclipse of the Heart”_

*****

“Hello, Kyle,” Eric Cartman pronounced Kyle's name properly, for once. “It's a lovely night for walk, isn't it?”

Keith gasped, as on the opposite rooftop, Mysterion made no sound as he moved backward to leap a few to those adjacent.

But for Kyle, there was no surprise. At the very sight of Eric Cartman, The Collective had been summoned to high alert. Although Cartman could not see them, standing behind Kyle was vast army of Kyles and Eclipses. That with which he'd been struggling suddenly came to full fruition: There was one, and _only_ one, Eclipse.

 _So this is how it's going to be?_ Kyle-Prime thought, introspectively, _From these days forward, existing simultaneously in every moment of my life? Knowing what was, what is, and what is yet to come?_

 _We've won,_ any number of The Collective reminded him, including the one who stood atop the hill in the cemetery, the dust of Tweek's angel monument blowing through his black-gloved fingers.

And yet, Kyle knew that he was there as well.

 _Cartman doesn't know. It's not there. He cannot know,_ Still more of them reminded Kyle-Prime.

And in that instant, Kyle-Prime analysed what he knew of Eric Cartman. Again, without so much as blinking, his mind gently infiltrated Cartman's mind again.

Again, the wall: That mysterious, tantalizing bit that lay just beyond his consciousness.

“ _It's Stan Marsh,”_ Cartman had told his older self, _Stan Marsh is Eclipse_.

And Kyle knew.

 _He thinks that Stan is Eclipse! He doesn't remember what I did, that night we were all out stealing teeth in Cherry Creek! He doesn't remember what I did!_ Kyle realized.

“ _Would someone take those books away from him, please?”_

Mysterion waited, his hand clutching a Mysterang, his arm cocked and ready to throw.

“End it!” The Other whispered to him.  
“Wait,” Kenny McCormick told him.

_You really think I could kill someone?  
Yes!_

“Hello, Cartman,” Kyle said, without missing a beat, his unbroken voice steady. “What the hell are you doing out of juvie?”

“Oh, you know, kinda like I did when those assholes sent me off to fat camp? I simply hired a replacement. They'll never even miss me!” Cartman smiled.

 _CEO Cartman has sent back a Drone to replace him!_ Kyle then realized, cursing himself inwardly for not realizing it before. Behind him, any number of Kyles did the same.

Yet at the same time, Kyle could feel Keith's hand slipping into his. And he heard Keith's thought: _Older Cartman has been visiting him, setting off ripples in time, and springing our Cartman early has probably set off a tsunami! Never mind the presence of another Drone here! We have to act fast!_

“Cartman,” Kyle asked thoughtfully, “Won't the cops know? How are you going to be able to stay out?”

Cartman smiled, and although that smile sent chills up Kyle's spine, Kyle didn't flinch. “Oh, they've got papers, computer records, and all that shit, even if they _do_ check! Besides, you really think Yates and these idiots are that smart?”

“Future CEO Cartman arranged it?” Keith spoke up, and their voice was not steady.

At all.

“Be quiet, you pedantic little Drone!” Cartman snapped at Keith. Then he blinked. “I'm sorry Ky-yile, that's no way for me to talk to your new little brother, is it? 'Brother'? Is that OK, seeing as how it's an 'it'?”

Above their heads, only Kyle and Mysterion saw the sky flash with familiar myriad colors that were gone as soon as they appeared. They knew, somehow, that were anyone else to see it, they would certainly have gone mad.

 _The future has changed!_  
Yes, but the angel statue is still dust!  
And Cartman is still driving the van...  
Push!

“And you'll get away with it, too, won't you, Not-So-Fat-Ass?” Kyle smiled at Cartman.

“Kahl, you really need to come up with a new nickname for me, don't you now?” Cartman grinned. “In fact, I think I'm every bit as fit as you are now! Put on a bit of weight there, haven't you, Kahl?”

Again: _He doesn't know that we're Eclipse!  
Not too good for Stan, if he decides to go after him?_

Kyle raised an eyebrow, and in that instant, a few things vanished from Cartman's mind. In the next instant, Kyle sent a single thought to Mysterion.

Seconds later, and Cartman spun around at the sound of a light thud, and leather gloves on rope as Mysterion descended behind him.

 _He's blundered right into his own undoing, and he has no fucking clue!_ The Collective thought. _Let's lead him to believe that he's winning?_

Cartman's face paled, and he took a step back.

It was as when he'd met Mysterion for the very first time: He had no idea who Mysterion really was.

 _Who IS Mysterion_?

As Cartman raised his hand to point at the hero, they all saw the faint blue glow from under the cuff of his black hoodie.

“Nice Discriminator? How much power you got left?” Keith asked, his own glowing brilliantly as his vital signs rose.

“Yes, you _would_ know about these, wouldn't you, Drone?” Cartman replied, keeping a nervous eye on Mysterion. “Just a gift from a friend. Nice, seeing as how there must be a source of power for it, here in South Park?”

 _He knows too much, and that's enough to be dangerous_! The Collective thought.

“You faked your release?” Mysterion accused Cartman. “Did they use a Drone? There's no way you could have hired someone to replace you!”

Yet Kyle could not cut in, lest he give himself away.

But he knew.

He knew for certain that back in Cartman's bed at Alamosa, there was a near-perfect copy of Eric Cartman sleeping.

 _Sleeping, and dreaming. Dreaming of me? Of us?_ Kyle wondered, as letting a stray thought drift out to Alamosa showed him Cartman's cell, and the Drone sleeping in his bed. “...miss you...” Kyle could hear, as his thought brushed EC-2's mind.

 _His replacement Drone misses me?_ Kyle's mind raced.

Again, that tantalizing wall of thought, hiding something.

 _The secret never got out,_ Kyle knew, as Eclipse pixelated into existence right beside Mysterion. _He has no idea that I can project!_

“Hello, Stan,” Cartman smiled again, his eyes darting nervously from Kyle to hero to hero.

“ _Cartman, you are so fucking stupid,”_ Stan had once said.

Projection-Eclipse held out his arm, blocking Mysterion.

“Let me take him out, once and for all!” Mysterion growled, his voice impossibly low, as if some distant, older Kenny were speaking through him.

“Son of a bitch, you've upgraded!” Cartman observed. “No underwear? I don't suppose I could get you to say 'I'm Batman!' for me?”

Mysterion growled again, but he did put the Mysterang back in his belt. He did, however, raise his left hand to point at Cartman.

“One step out of line, Mister,” Mysterion warned Cartman, “One cross word to Tweek or Craig, and I swear, I will END YOU!”

“Not if I'm not here,” Cartman replied, whistling a little tune.

_Every Drone has an alternate personality, one that they're not even aware of, until it's triggered, usually by a series of sounds._

It was nothing for Kyle. For Eclipse. He realized what Cartman was doing, when Keith's pupils dilated, and Keith's face went blank: Cartman was trying to trigger Keith's alternate personality.

Kyle's projection didn't even waver as he cast the single thought into Keith's mind, finding his brother's mental wall, and smashing his virtual fist through it. In his mind, Tweek's _**Gloria**_ replayed. What Kyle then seized, he held tightly to – and crushed it.

Keith whimpered, his knees buckled, but Kyle caught him.

And again, he knew: The killer in Keith – that which was Korx – had been eliminated.

Once again, the sky flashed with colors that none but the two could see.

Kyle felt the urge to cry. It wasn't as if Keith would have ever willingly betrayed him. But the Drone had been conditioned, subjected to unspeakable tortures both physical and mental, to tear his personality in half and seal that violent half away until it was needed.

Kyle knew it.

Eclipse saw it.

Both were appalled by it.

_They've apparently done the same thing to Cartman! Not to mention that poor Drone they created and condemned to a hellish existence, short as it'll be._

_Yes, Cartman sounds all wrong. He sounds too intelligent, no? A bit too urbane? It's not our Cartman anymore._

And Cartman indeed had that same mental wall.

“No,” Projection-Eclipse then spoke up, having watched in silence thusfar. From behind the mask of an eclipsed sun, he glared at Cartman. The fire of the mask seemed to come alive, and Cartman flinched again. “It's not going to work, Cartman.”

“I'm afraid it won't be so easy this time, Eclipse,” a man's voice then cut in, as the familiar figure in black stepped out of the shadows. “But I'm sure you saw me coming? You seem to have that talent? I'll give you this, boy, if you're indeed a boy, as Eric says? You've done a good a job as Batman, in keeping your true identity a secret.” He held out his hands.

“Hello, Mr. Cartman,” Eclipse greeted him in that choral voice. “So, how is it – a thousand years from now?”

“Wonderful, thanks to all this temporal manipulation!” Mr. Cartman answered. “Frankly, I'm surprised that the Drone there,” he nodded to Keith, “Hasn't blinked out of existence yet. There's really no reason for his people to have ever come back to begin with now, so much has changed!”

“No reason, or perhaps, _can't_ , come back now?” Mysterion put in, “What did you _do_ , you fucking psycho? Wipe them all out?”

 _Don't worry, I'm protected,_ Kyle could hear Keith's thoughts and he held tightly to the child's hand.

“Not so stranded as we thought – or are you?” Mr. Cartman asked Keith, who didn't reply. He stared at the Drone, his eyes the only movement he made, flicking slightly upward, and then back to Keith's face.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing, wearing Craig's old hat?” Eric asked.

“Fuck the hat, we've got business,” Mr. Cartman suggested.

“Which is?” Kyle wondered, “What could be so pressing to demand time out of your busy schedule, in remodeling the future to suit _your_ needs?”

It seemed to dawn upon Mysterion at the same time.

“Just like when you claimed that you and Cthulhu were making the world a better place? A better place for YOU!” Mysterion exclaimed. “Shit! You haven't changed a bit, Cartman!”

“Oh, but I have!” Mr. Cartman smiled that same chilling smile as Eric's. “I've changed in ways that you cannot possibly understand!”

“Try us,” Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I'm sorry, children, but I have things to do. I'll be leaving my perfectly legal younger self here – at least, as far as paperwork goes – so that he can get on with _my_ life! Discriminator and all, just in case someone tries to tamper again?”

And yet again, Kyle knew. _That's it! That's the Achilles heel._

In an instant, he stood as judge, jury, and -

He cast the thought: _Do it!_

From Mysterion's left gauntlet, a small puff of smoke and a soft POP sound were the only hints of a weapon launching. The taser cables struck Mr. Cartman in the chest, and the voltage immediately sent him into cardiac arrest. The gauntlet smoked, then fell from Mysterion's wrist, spent.

“DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK?!” Eric cried out, as his older self fell to the sidewalk, dead.

“Oh my God, I killed Cartman!” Mysterion snorted. “The old one, I mean!”

“You bastard,” Eclipse agreed, in Stan's voice, which was just backwards.

“Murderer!” Eric accused Mysterion.

“No, _he's_ not,” Eclipse countered.

“You're not thinking in four dimensions, Marty,” Mysterion sighed heavily, despite the joke. “You're still here! For now. Which means that HE _might_ be, some day.” He paused. “Then again, if you _do_ live, why hasn't older-you come back again, just now? Maybe you don't make it to that point, _this_ time?”

“So long as you live,” Eclipse put in, nodding, “There could be CEO Cartmans, ad infinitum, showing up tonight. I see none!”

_Because there are none!_

Kyle could feel Keith shivering, and knew that they were terrified. For a moment, Kyle found it odd, until he realized why: He might have just obliterated something behind that mental wall that Keith needed. He gripped his brother's hand tighter.

The breeze picked up.

Kyle could have sworn that he heard a voice carried upon it.

 _Cartman can't win._  
He doesn't know.  
He'll never know!

“Dispose of that,” Mysterion sniffed, jerking a thumb at the dead Mr. Cartman, and turning with a flourish of his cape.

“Mother _fucker_ , I'll call the cops on you!” Eric threatened him.

Mysterion spun around again, knocking Eclipse's arm out of his way, as if it were solid matter.

“Cross me, and I swear, I'll kill you!” Mysterion told Eric, grabbing him by the throat. “I've already got so much innocent blood on my hands, that all the water in all of Time itself can't wash it clean! So maybe I'll start scrubbing them with _guilty_ blood? How about _that_ , Cartman? How about I _start_ with yours?”

Eric choked, struggling for air, and Mysterion relaxed his grip.

“You guys just aren't gonna let up on me, are you?” Eric asked, sounding hurt. “All that time in jail, and not one visit? Not even one miserable letter or email? You guys were really _that_ glad to be rid of me?”

“I was never _with_ you,” Mysterion told him flatly, releasing him, throwing him back, to land on his butt on the sidewalk.

“Cartman, you really can't _believe_ that any of us are buying this act, can you?” Kyle asked seriously. “Because that's all it is, is an act! Give you a little bit of freedom, and you'll just go right back out and do what you want! Enough rope, and you always hang yourself, Cartman!”

“SHIT!” Eric then yelled, dropping to his knees and pointing.

The body of Mr. Cartman was becoming transparent. Then it vanished. Back at Kyle's house, Eric's future tablet vanished as well.

Oddly enough, Mr. Cartman's Discriminator remained. Mysterion drove a Mysterang through it. It smoked and sizzled, then faded out.

“Don't look at _me_?” Eclipse held out his hands, “I didn't do it!”

“He never existed,” Mysterion supplied, “Or, rather – won't?” He added, the pleasure almost dripping from his every word.

“I need to get Keith home,” Kyle offered, still so immersed in his rôle that even Mysterion seemed surprised.

“What do we do with _him_?” Mysterion pointed at Eric.

Kyle shrugged. “Let him wander home, maybe his mom will have him? If his future self never exists again, then in a bit, he won't even remember any of this.”

“I wouldn't!” Mysterion spat the words. “Why risk it?”

“Because he isn't like us,” Eclipse explained, “He has no memory of the future.”

_But he has something in his head? What is it? Will that vanish,too?  
It has to!_

“This...this w-wasn't supposed to happen?” Eric choked, a couple of tears on his face. “I mean, who fuckin' cares if a few people die? People die all the time? Doesn't it matter if a bunch more are better off for it? **Damn** you, Stan!” he then snarled, jumping up and lunging at Eclipse.

“What the hell did _I_ do?” Stan's voice then called out, as he came strolling up the sidewalk. “Any of you guys seen my wallet?” Then he froze. “ _CART_ MAN?”

“Oh, no! No, nuh-uhh!” Eric held up his hands, as if to ward Stan off, “You're just Eclipse raping my mind again! You're not real!”

“Oh yeah?” Stan asked, pinching him on the arm.

“OW! That hurt, Butt-fucker!” Eric snapped.

“That's Cartman, all right,” Stan nodded. “The hell you doing outta jail, Fat-ah, Thinner-Ass?” Stan fumbled.

“Not what he planned,” Mysterion explained. “You just missed our future assassin again. I think this one was coming after _you_ , Marsh,” he added for emphasis.

“Stay away from me, Stan,” Eric warned him, staring at Eclipse.

“Dude, I think you lost your mind in juvie?” Stan told Eric, “I'm right over here?”

“It's a trick!” Eric persisted, pointing from Eclipse to Stan and back again, his Discriminator glowing as he reached for it. “I know how this thing works! I'll go back and shoot your mom, Stan!”

“I'll be taking that,” Eclipse declared, as the Discriminator vanished from Eric's wrist to appear on Eclipse's.

_We're going to need another one of these!_

“NO!” Eric shrieked, his eyes wild, spittle flying from his lips, “You CAN'T take it!”

He lunged, but his chin met Eclipse's fist – hard.

Eric's head jerked to the side, causing him to fall again.

“Try and take it from me?” Eclipse challenged him, which made Cartman stand down.

“Go home, Cartman,” Kyle then sighed, his hands tucked into his armpits. “Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow?” He planted the mental suggestion.

“Th-thank you, Kyle,” Eric conceded reluctantly, and for Kyle – for The Collective – the fear coming off of Cartman was tangible.

_It's broken him!_

Kyle found it distasteful.

Eric turned to go, head down, shuffling his feet. Beaten.

The others headed off towards Kyle's house.

When Eric was gone, Projection-Eclipse vanished as they moved to the dark space between Kyle's house and the next.

Stan remained.

“Oh, you're real?” Mysterion seemed surprised, but not lowering his cowl.

Kyle held out his hand, and Stan's wallet materialized on it.

On Kyle's wrist, Eric's Discriminator glowed blue.

“Guess we know how you jumped a few billion years then, huh?” Stan observed.

“You left your wallet at Tweek's shoppe,” Kyle explained. “I didn't tell you, because I knew I'd need you here tonight. Cartman thinks that _you're_ Eclipse!”

“Which puts you in a world of danger,” Keith finally put in, having been silent throughout the latter exchange.

“Guys, I need to get Keith inside,” Kyle reminded them.

“What did I miss?” Stan asked.

“You don't wanna know,” Mysterion muttered, as he turned to vanish into the night.

“Lock your doors,” Kyle advised Stan, “Until I sort this out.”

“Thanks a lot,” Stan complained, as Kyle raised his hand. Stan nodded, then pixelated away to reappear in his own bedroom.

Up in their shared room, Kyle had to undress Keith. The Drone seemed almost catatonic, but as Kyle gently probed their mind, he found that Keith was terrified.

_Drones aren't supposed to be able to feel that kind of-_

“K-Kyle, what d-did you do to me?” Keith finally stammered, as Kyle was getting them stuffed into the yellow pyjamas. Keith blinked. “You removed it? Y-you...destroyed it?” Their eyes went wide. “Kyle, you don't know what you've _done_!”

“Yes, we do,” Kyle disagreed, finding that he was still that Entity he called 'The Collective', although they were now alone in their room.

“Without him – w-without...Korx – what am I? I'm _nothing_ , Kyle! You've done worse than k-”

“No, I freed you,” Kyle interrupted, gently guiding Keith to the bed. “You're no longer a Drone, Keith. You're no longer a temporal assassin. And whoever Korx was, that alternate-you that they could have triggered at any time, to do God-knows-what, you're better off without him-them!”

“But I'm...I'm just nuh-”

“You're the same as me now, almost,” Kyle assured them. “You're not a slave anymore, Keith! You're just another cool nonbinary kid, with a good home. Well, sorta good? You know what I mean? Parents notwithstanding! You are a valid person. Your future is your own now.”

“And I dunno know how to deal with that, Kyle!” Keith wailed, clutching his brother tightly.

It was much later when Keith had finally cried themself to sleep.

Kyle laid a hand on their forehead, and whispered, “Rest.”

He then vanished, to reappear in front of his mirror. For a moment, he stared at his true form.

The form that he had chosen for himself.

The form that he _was_.

And then Eclipse stood before the mirror, his facemask blazing in fire that gave off no light. Yet this Eclipse did have a bit of color: a faint blue glow from under one of his gloves.

Somehow, Cartman's Discriminator has survived the latest changes to the Timeline.

His mind raced ahead:

His homework was done.  
There would be no tests or quizzes until Friday.  
That weekend would be spent playing video games, going to Tweek's, and just hanging out. They would socialize at Tweek's shoppe, as they would come to do quite often.  
Craig would work on his car. Sometimes, he'd have help.  
Tweek would compose and play. His work with Trent won them a Grammy.  
Bus rides.  
School days.  
A few of them would play baseball.  
Clyde would play at every event, Bebe there to cheer him on.  
The local vigilantes would soon fade into urban legend, all but one.  
High school.  
Cars.  
Driving.  
The Jetta, Red Racer, the Lincoln, the Jeep, the Ranger, the Land Rover, the Impala, the Mustang GT.  
Cartman wouldn't get a car.  
Kenny would refuse to drive, although he knew how.

Pete Thelman would live.  
Clyde would be healthy, as would they all.  
Gene therapy, and a bit of cheating on Kyle's part, would eventually cure Scott Malkinson, decades ahead of schedule.  
Kenny would be killed by a crosstown bus, but he'd be back again.  
They'd all remember it, this time.  
“You're going to be killed tomorrow, Kenny,” Kyle would tell him.  
“I know, but Leo needs a new lens and cornea.”  
“Time won't care, I'm sure,” Kyle added.  
“I'm glad,” Kenny would reply.  
In fact, Time wouldn't care at all that Butters would get his bad eye repaired.  
Ike's Gang, including Teddy, would have their own adventures.

And they would all be just fine.

Even Keith.

The nearly-full moon was high in the sky over Colorado, as a figure dressed in black rose up into the sky in front of it to look down upon the sleeping town of South Park.

He knew all of these things.

He knew them all, because as each took place in its own time, he was there.

Eclipse was there.

His moonshadow fell over the town as he hovered.

On the rooftop of the courthouse, another dark figure looked up. No one ever looked up.

Mysterion did, however.

“Now you're just showin' off!” He grumbled at Eclipse, no doubt in his mind that his friend had heard him.

Below him, as Eclipse's eyes and mind scanned the town, he saw more:

Betsy Donovan was standing in Clyde's doorway, watching him sleep; Clyde had no memory of her death.  
 _Wonder how they slipped_ her _past me?_   
Chef Jerome McElroy was entertaining a lady, making sweet love down by the fire.  
Stan Marsh was in his bed, but awake, door locked, a gun under his pillow, and his window nailed shut.  
Mysterion sat on the edge of a high roof downtown, watching. Waiting.  
Butters had just fallen back to sleep, his foster brother, Aaron, in his arms. Aaron hadn't had any nightmares in a while; he'd simply been lonely.  
PC Principal and Strong Woman stood in his doorway, watching the boys sleep.  
“We should have a baby?” She suggested.  
“We'd probably have triplets, our luck!” PC Principal smiled.

Eclipse felt like a voyeur.

And yet he felt no shame in this.

This was what they'd all worked for, for so long.

Some of them longer than others.

Eclipse watched.

Some blocks over, as Eclipse hovered and the temperature fell, Eric Cartman was curled up in his bed. His cold room was just how he'd left it: Dust covered everything, his bedclothes musty, the room having been closed off since his incarceration.

Having not considered Eric since his conviction, and the revelation of the replacement Drone, Eclipse found himself pleasantly surprised. He had no idea what lay in store for his old nemesis now. Up to the point of the temporal explosion that would result from his own actions in preventing the crash on 285, Eclipse could see no further.

Because he was not there.

It was a rare thing, being surprised, he was coming to understand.

“She took him back,” Eclipse thought of Eric Cartman and his mother again. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps, because Cartman had surprised him, and that was something he'd expected to never feel again.

But one brief flash in the sky later, and Eclipse realized that, while no one else would likely remember it, he would: Eric Cartman vanished from his bed at home, reappearing in his bunk at Alamosa in the cell he shared with Romper.

The Drone EC-2 vanished as Cartman appeared.

 _...miss you, silly Jew..._ Eclipse remembered, saddened that he'd never gotten to know the Drone, as EC-2 had never existed.

“Not without CEO Cartman to be there. You blew it again, Eric; you're your own worst enemy,” Eclipse sighed, knowing that they'd give their once-friend another chance. This, Eclipse simply knew. “But at least he won't remember the pain of this night.”

Stan Marsh, he knew, was sleeping peacefully in his bed.

Eclipse looked forward.

Cartman was returning for Ninth Grade, Judge Bonner's mental incompetence to blame in the overturning of his conviction. They'd taken Eric camping at the mountain lake, and he'd even enjoyed it. But yet, Eric was stealing his mother's van to head out to 285 in that same glance.

And Eclipse was _there_ as well.

The temporal explosion was tearing the sky apart, exploding forward in Time to find Kenny, the future just not what it should have been. (For all that Eclipse knew.)

Kenny had said it, but Eclipse didn't remember it: Train-Wreck Kyle in high school. Kyle committing suicide by exposure in winter. And then? A future with no Kyle at all.

Somehow, though, Eclipse was not disoriented.

For how long he hovered over the town, he didn't know.

Clouds covered the moon as snow began to fall.

“I am everything, and nothing. I am everywhere, and nowhere,” Eclipse whispered to himself, raising his face to the moon, and his arms to the sky.

And _he_ knew.

“I know. I know it _all_ ,” he sighed deeply. “And yes, Keith, I _do_ know what I did to you.”

He thought of that other personality, locked away in Keith's mind, which he'd destroyed.

Korx the Assassin.

 _Murderer_.

Eclipse wept.

*

Three years later that same gravestone, which Eclipse had already seen, materialized in the place where the weeping marble angel had stood: KYLE BROFLOVSKI.

A lone figure in black stood, staring at it in the dying grass.

“So be it!” He declared.

*

He was everywhere, and nowhere. He was everywhen, and nowhen.

At least, as far as his short lifespan would allow.

From the first hint of memory of a face framed in unkempt black hair, to the temporal explosion, Kyle was there.

Again, the night sky filled with unknowable colors. For an instant, they swirled and mixed, reminding Eclipse of the belts of Jupiter's violent atmosphere.

But there was no one to see them, save for him.

Those storms of color then began to coalesce, revealing a dark sky in their wake, as they swirled into two whirlwinds of light that spiraled down to vanish into Eclipse's gloved hands.

Yet there _was_ one thing to hold his attention, as he pondered...everything.

And since it didn't really matter where and when he went, Eclipse decided to go to bed. He was, after all, quite tired.

“Kyle?” A small voice moaned, as Kyle appeared in his bed, next to the child who slept there, awakening them.

“It's OK, I'm here.”

“...scared,” Keith whimpered.

“Don't be,” Kyle assured them, in that choral voice, “I love you.”

And they slept.

In the dream, Keith was reminding Kyle, “It won't matter _when_ you go, because you'll still have lived it all.”

“But it won't be tomorrow,” Kyle dreamed, finding himself again at his Bar Mitzvah, along with the infinity of Guest-Kyles. They were watching Craig and Tweek dance the tango again, Tweek clutching a blood-red rose in his teeth. “No, not my tomorrow. Maybe another's?”

“Doesn't matter...”

“Tomorrow is yesterday is tomorrow,” Another-Kyle agreed, as they all raised a glass to toast the birthday boy.

The boy who didn't yet know what lay in store for him.

The boy who was still a boy, yet didn't want to be.

 _I would weep for that boy_.

Kyle-Prime saw Kenny as well, dancing with Marjorine.

 _How much longer will you let Kenny's suffering go on?_ The Other then asked Kyle, and it had been a while since he'd heard from him.

“Just come, Kyle,” another who might have been High-School-Junior-Kyle encouraged him. “You'll always have Keith, you know.”

“It's not as if you're giving up those years,” Battered-Eclipse told him, “Think of it as a shortcut that's not really short.”

*

**A thousand years into the future, give or take a few years before :**

A small Drone stood in front of the Temporal Accelerator.

“You know your mission, Korx?”

“To find and kill the Metahuman, Kyle Broflovski, sir,” the bald Drone replied.

Then he vanished.

“Now why did I come in here?” The technician wondered.

“There is a 99.99% chance that the past has altered your present again,” the soft, feminine voice of the Hybrid-AI that ran the time machine told the technician.

“Sir?” A young Drone asked, just entering the room, “Sorry I'm late, sir.”

“Drop the formalities, Nephew! We've got to get you out of here, before your mission protocols are activated!”

“You're sure it's _not_ him?”

“Positive, Korx!” The child's uncle answered.

And with that, the technician kissed his nephew goodbye. “Ziggy, set destination: South Park, Colorado. Location, original incursion site on 285, best guess for local temporal anomalies! Try to hit it about three years after that.” The man checked his nephew's Discriminator and small backpack.

“I love you, Kid!”

“I love you too, Uncle!”

They hugged one last time, and then Korx was shoved through the portal.

Behind him, the door hissed open. The technician jumped.

“Korx?!” He gasped. “But I just sent you-?”

“Yeah, about that, Uncle. I'm sorry! Ziggy, prepare to power down the core! Authorization _Pi-Red-Daywalker-nineteen-seventy-seven_!”

As the Accelerator powered down, the child released the hatch and grabbed up the large blue chunk of mixed crystals driving it. He jabbed the Discriminator on his wrist, and vanished into a swirl of blue light, taking the meteorite with him.

“Awww, shit!” The technician groaned, spying the _**Tweak Bros.**_ box of donuts on the table.

“That was our only source of temporal energy,” Ziggy crooned. “Now initiating shutdown sequence. Goodbye.”

“Fuck me!” The technician sighed. “Guess I'm fired?” Then he smiled. “That little shit! I'll bet you they're gonna make one HELL of a change!”

“I am sure that Mr. Stoley will take care of it, in the past, sir,” Ziggy replied, as the entire complex went dark.

“I hope you find the life that you deserve back then, Kid, instead of the life you'd have had here!” Uncle sighed.

*

 **A thousand years before** :

Kyle's projection didn't even waver as he cast the single thought into Keith's mind, finding his brother's mental wall, and smashing his virtual fist through it. In his mind, Tweek's _**Gloria**_ replayed. What Kyle then seized, he held tightly to – and crushed it.

Was it murder to destroy a dormant, alternate personality resulting from mind conditioning?

*

 **A thousand years and one week later** :

Technicians surrounded the specified receiving table at the lab where Drones were created. There was a small flash of blue light, reflecting in the glass of the maturation chambers that lined two of the walls. Therein floated humanoid forms, small and hairless, gender indeterminate.

One of the technicians picked up the metallic hypo spray that materialized on the table.

“He's got maybe one jump left, and he sends us blood?” Another technician wondered.

The first took it, injecting a small bit of the blood into the gelatinous mass contained in an unoccupied maturation chamber.

“How do you know he wants a Drone?” the other asked.

“Because that's what he told me to do,” the technician answered, “And when it's done in a few months, we send it back to where and when that hypo originated.”

“But I thought Ziggy was offline?”

“She is, but the firm doesn't know about this!” the technician pulled a Discriminator from their pocket. “And if Tucker finds out, we're all toast!”

“What if it's a defective Drone, like that Korx-kid was?”

“Then we terminate it, recycle the parts, and brew another one. It's not like it can be late, you know! Besides, this one's gonna terminate Korx for us.”

“Technically, we're _both_ an 'it',” the technician reminded the other, as both hypo and Discriminator vanished.

“We can't blow it, seeing as how the Gelgameks won't let us leave the Sol system anymore, to mine more Cobalt-57,” the other shrugged. The lights flashed; they blinked. “What'r we doing in here? The neonatal Drones are all fine?”

“I have no idea?” the other shrugged as well, looking at the one empty maturation chamber.

**PRESENT DAY , 1 Day Before, Alamosa Maximum Security Juvenile Facility:**

“Guess I'll just wait on the judge to be overruled!” Eric Cartman smiled, “Screw you guys, I'm goin' home next summer!”

*

“ **PRESENT” DAY South Park (Altered “Small Victories”)** **– THREE Years Later** :

In the green house at #1002, a boy with red hair (but no freckles, thank you) rolled out of bed. He yawned and stretched, wishing he'd taken a bath the night before. It made sense to him, as all he'd have to do was fix his hair, which wasn't hard. It was even easier for his adopted brother, who couldn't grow hair.

After their shower, Kyle dressed in a tan polo shirt and olive cargo pants, then tried to find his drab green jacket. Keith dressed in their usual yellow, with the blue chullo hat with the yellow poofball on top.

On the corner post of the bed still hung a green ushanka hunting hat, unworn for at least five years. Kyle didn't know why he kept it. “Sentimental, I guess,” he mumbled, picking it up anyway.

 _Three years in a night? Or was it?_ Kyle-Prime wondered, clearly remembering those three years that he'd 'skipped'.

“Well I don't want it!” Keith told him about the hat.

Passing through the family room, they noticed that the large yaoi picture had been replaced with one of four boys, a VW Jetta, and a red Corvette. “When did that happen?” Kyle wondered.

“And how're my little bubbulas this morning?” Their mother greeted them, serving up 'who knew what', but whatever it was certainly being Kosher.

“Fine, Ma,” Kyle and Keith both replied, glancing over at their ten year old brother. He wore a baby blue hoodie, his favorite color, and gray trousers over too-big hiking boots. The boy's black hair stuck up in the back, and he was eating with a decided lack of interest. “You want a ride this morning, Ike?”

“Hell yeah!” Ike replied, smiling.

“Language, IKE!” Sheila shouted.

“Mmm-hmmm,” their father agreed, sipping coffee and staring at his phone. He then put it aside and grabbed his coat and briefcase. “Gotta run!” He kissed his wife goodbye, “Still a lot of work to do on that settlement case against the state for false imprisonment of your fat, racist friend,” he snorted.

“That's not settled yet?” Kyle exclaimed.

“Senile judge?” Keith snorted.

“I can't discuss it, you know that, so stop asking,” Gerald told his son, patting the boys' heads on the way out. “Springy! Have a good day, Cory!”

“I do NOT look like Cory from _**Boy Meets World**_!” Kyle protested.

“No, your hair's too red, Kyle,” Sheila put in. “Although I do so wish you'd grow it back out?” Kyle snorted. Ike laughed. He'd been binging on the old show on Hulu.

“You look just like him!” Ike agreed.

“Least you _have_ hair,” Keith put in.

“I know, Sweetheart, but we've tried everything. They just can't cure your alopecia!” Sheila comforted him.

“I am NOT Ben Savage!” Kyle protested, picking at his food. His mother groused at him. Kyle ate a bit more. “C'mon, Ike, Keith,” he finally sighed, as they headed out the door after obligatory hugs and kisses. They all got in the old Jetta.

“What's wrong, Ike?” Keith asked.

“Filmore's been making fun of me for being Canadian,” Ike sighed, “He says I have beady little eyes.”

“Oh,” Kyle nodded, reaching for his book bag. He planted the green ushanka hat on his little brother's head, knowing why he'd kept it. “Well now he can't see the cowlick or flat spot!”

Ike gasped. “For me?!” He stared at his reflection in the side mirror all the way to school.

When they arrived at school, Kyle and Ike got out of the car. “Kick the baby?” Kyle asked, snickering.

“Don't kick the god-damn baby!” Ike replied, as it was their own little joke, a morning ritual.

“Thanks for the hat, Kyle!” Ike hugged him.

“Oh – my – God!” Another boy said, dressed all in black with black, floppy hair, “That's so...kindergarten!”

“Hey, Firkle!” Ike greeted him.

“Hey, Ike,” Firkle replied, “What's with the hat?”

“It was mine,” Kyle told him, “I gave it to Ike.”

“I think I'm gonna barf,” Firkle snorted, “I don't like it,” He added.

“Well, I do,” Ike told him, winking at Kyle, who then grabbed Firkle and hugged him.

“STOP! The fuck is this?!” Firkle protested, although he didn't really struggle all that much as Kyle and Ike laughed at him. When Kyle released him, Ike put his arm around the dark boy's shoulders. “You're the only reason I come to this shit-hole every day, Ike. But can we please lose the hat?”

“No,” Ike repeated, “Unless we're shoving it up Filmore's ass?”

“Thanks, Kyle,” Firkle said, as he glanced back with a heavy sigh. “Sounds good to me, Ike!”

Getting back in the car, Kyle paused as he caught a glimpse of the playground. His eyes lingered on the bench just in front of the curved jungle gym for a moment. A boy in a green hoodie and chullo hat, maybe a third grader, was sitting there, staring at a boy in a blue insulated vest who didn't seem to notice him.

Kyle blinked.

“History repeating itself?” Keith asked. “Remind you of someone?”

“Not the first time I've seen them,” Kyle answered.

“You want me to drive? You're a little distracted this morning, Bro?” Keith asked. They traded places. “You sliding up and down the string again, this morning?”

“I feel like I was thirteen last night,” Kyle nodded, “The night it happened. The night that-”

“Cartman came back, then didn't?” Keith asked.

Kyle nodded again.

“You were out late, I recall?” Keith reminded him.

“It was a strange night,” Kyle agreed. “I guess you could say there was a Total Eclipse?”

“So, you just jumped almost three and half years?” Keith wondered. “Haven't seen that Eclipse kid in a while?”

“Haven't heard from any time travelers in as long?” Kyle shrugged.

“So, you slid ahead? Funny, you were always there for me, Kyle.”

“Sort of. Yeah, I guess -if you can call it that,” Kyle tried to explain. “I'm _still_ there, you know. And I'm still-”

“At the explosion?” Keith interrupted.

Kyle nodded yet again, staring at Keith's hand, as it smoothly shifted through the Jetta's five gears.

“I was gonna say, I'm still there, holding you, after I ripped that other personality out of your mind,” Kyle offered. He put his hand over Keith's on the shifter.

Meat Loaf played on the stereo: “And I would do anything for love...”

Kyle punched NEXT: “Don't worry about the future, sooner or later it's the past!”

“Meat Loaf,” Keith sighed. “Craig forgot his USB stick!”

“Fucking Craig and his playlist!” Kyle complained, hitting SELECT. Trent Boyette's voice filled the speakers from the CD, _**Adoramus Te**_.

“No, that's _Tweek's_ job!” Keith joked, which for the two of them, was hilarious.

“Speaking of?” Kyle pointed, as they pulled into the high school's parking lot just outside the Vocational Arts wing.

Red Racer was parked in her usual spot, right next to Tweek's black Lincoln LSC. Next to that was Clyde's white Ranger. Clyde was sitting on the tailgate between Tweek and Craig, and he looked ill.

As Keith and Kyle got out, they could hear Clyde saying, “It jumped out from under me, Craig! I hit second gear, punched it, and it spun around twice, almost took out a telephone pole, and shot the back driveshaft out!” Clyde held up the shaft. “I had to put it in 4wd and get here in _front wheel_ drive!”

“I told you not to put that rebuilt SVO-turbocharger on this thing!” Tweek scolded Craig.

“It worked, didn't it?!” Craig exclaimed happily, as Scott drove up in his restored Mustang GT.

He and Craig began to playfully insult one another about engine sizes.

Kyle smiled. This was Red Racer's third and “final” incarnation, the original engine having not been so bad off. For Craig's first rebuild job, though, the stock 350 just hadn't been able to take having a teenage boy learning to drive it, and drive it hard. The engine had scattered after only a year or so, and then Craig had rebuilt it again. This engine was _not_ the original, though:

“ _350 cubic inches, bored thirty-over, thirteen-to-one compression pistons, ported and polished heads, three quarter cam, roller bearing shaft and lifters, and a Borg-Warner turbo fed by a custom injection plant,” a deeper, nasal, and flat voice echoed in his head, “Four on the floor, and a Dana replacement posi rear end for more top end.”_

“I can get you outta the hole, and in the eighth-mile, though!” Clyde grinned. “And so can Tweek!”

“GAHH! You weren't supposed to tell!” Tweek exclaimed.

“Clyde, I've had her up to 150 mph,” Craig reminded him, snapping his blue jacket proudly, picking a bit of lint from the NASA patch on the right sleeve.

“I heard that someone had his GT up to 143 last weekend?” Kyle asked, elbowing Scott.

“I had to test out the new chip I got!” Scott smiled.

“So, when was the last time you hit 60 in the VW, Grandpa?” Craig grinned at Kyle, just as Butters pulled up in the Impala SS with Kenny in the passenger seat.

“I said you could drive, Ken?” Butters was saying. “You know how?”

“No,” Kenny replied, which was their morning ritual, it seemed.

Across the front yard, over at the driveway, the school buses were just getting in to unload.

“Pathetic,” Token scoffed, as he'd just parked the Rover next to Butters, and they watched Eric Cartman disembarking with a paper in hand.

“He's got another office referral!” Clyde snickered.

Kevin Stoley then disembarked, followed by Douglas. Kevin was holding a first aid cold-pad to his face.

“Looks like him and Cartman got into it again?” Craig pointed out. He shook his head.

“I guess Kevin's too busy with his little workshop to learn how to drive?” Tweek wondered.

“He's making _bank_ , too,” Clyde added, “With all the electronics repairs he does.”

“I think he misses Bradley,” Tweek put in, sounding melancholy, yet dramatic.

“P-puh-pull that G-Grammy Award outta your ass!” Jimmy laughed.

“I'm just glad Trent's taking a break,” Tweek sighed, leaning on Craig, “It's been crazy these past few years. First, that organ in Jersey? Then the concert tours? All those screaming _girls_?!” Tweek cringed.

“Poor girls. If they only knew _why_ Trent can sing so high,” Clyde shrugged.

 _You can say that again,_ Kyle thought carefully, confirming: almost seventeen, Juniors ...and just days away from the accident.

He glanced at the Auto Mechanics garage.

_Lightning flashed._

_Kenny McCormick pulled a .38 Special from the front of his pants and put it to his temple._

_He hoped it wouldn't hurt too badly. He honestly couldn't recall if it did before._

“ _I'm so sorry, Tweek!” He wailed._

_As the thunder crashed a split-second later, and the shop class windows exploded, showering the wreck of Red Racer in more broken glass, Kenny pulled the trigger as a bolt of blinding lightning annihilated the auto shop classroom._

_There was no one to hear the voice that echoed on the wind: “You bastards!”_

“C'mon, Clyde. We'll shove that shaft back in at third period!” Craig comforted his friend, who was holding the broken driveshaft like a baby.

“Well, _you_ should know all about shoving shafts in!” Scott joked, and Craig playfully punched him as Tweek squeaked in alarm.

“That p-puh-place gives me the c-cr-creeps!” Jimmy exclaimed of the garage.

“And with good reason,” Kenny agreed, greeting them all. “Kyle?” He nodded to him last.

“Kenny? Busy night?”

“No,” Kenny replied, “Been slow lately. You should join me sometime? Been a while.”

“No need,” Kyle shrugged. “Professor?” He greeted Butters.

Butters blushed, pushing up his glasses over both bright eyes. Kyle noted that the left was bluer, even sparkling.

Just like Kenny's eyes.

“It won't be long now, it's coming up fast,” Butters whispered to Kyle, as the two gangs split off for different first period classes.

“I'm surprised you two remember,” Kyle commented.

“Probably those chronotons, or whatever you did to us?” Stan wondered.

Kyle noticed that Stan had been walking with his head down a lot lately, but he also knew that Stan had never had a drink again.

_You can't do this, Kyle!_

“Butters is right,” Kenny agreed, “I assume you know what you're going to do, Kyle? What _we're_ going to do? So why don't we meet up, so you can fill us in?”

“Thursday night, at Tweek's place,” Kyle agreed. “They leave Friday night for Denver via Route 73, but it'll be closed, so they'll have to double back to 285 at Conifer's interchange.”

The bell rang.

And then it was suddenly Thursday night – at least, for Kyle.

For Eclipse.

The FM radio in the Jetta was on, as Keith drove Kyle to Tweek's:

_In other news, sightings of the vigilante, Eclipse, have been on the decline for about two years now. While Mysterion seems to still be out and about, garnering high praise from local officials, the reportedly terrifying Eclipse seems to be becoming a recluse. Is he – or she – headed for retirement? And what of Chaos, Zorro, Toolshed, and the others – who have, over the years, helped reduce the crime rate?_

“He's back,” Kyle whispered under his breath.

“You just slid up?” Keith asked, and Kyle nodded.

Thursday nights at Tweek's were usually steady, but Friday nights would be chaotic. After the post-work rush of adults, kids of all ages would fill the place until it closed. Weeknights, post-rush, were generally dedicated to Stan's & Craig's Gangs doing homework and just hanging out, helping Tweek, and generally enjoying life.

As they pulled up, they noticed that Red Racer was not on the parking lot.

“Craig's tuning the injection plant to allow fuel flow around the cobalt crystal filter assembly Stan and I sneaked into it,” Keith told Kyle, who nodded. “Don't worry, he'll never find it.”

“I know,” Kyle sighed again.

It was only one of the small preparations that they'd made. In fact, Kyle had studied every moment leading up to the crash. In the trunk of the Jetta, in a lead-lined box, was Craig's meteorite. Tweek had smuggled it out. Kyle and Keith both wore Discriminators. As they went in to meet Stan, Kenny, and Butters, Keith looked back across the street at the rebuilt Cheese Shoppe.

“I lived over there, you know,” Keith reminded Kyle.

“And you will again, that's the beauty of it,” Kyle smiled.

“I was talking to Cartman,” Stan greeted them, looking pale. “His mom and him have to be in Denver tomorrow morning to sign some legal documents about the crazy old judge screwing up Cartman's case.”

“So _that's_ why Cartman's on 285, then?” Butters wondered. “He didn't wanna kill them, then? It was just wrong place, wrong time?”

“He might have, but given the changes in Time the other night...it's still a moot point,” Kyle decided.

“Doesn't explain why his mom isn't with him, but oh well,” Kenny shrugged. “Kyle, I have this idea about a backup plan.”

“Oh?”

“Leo and I should follow Craig and Tweek,” Kenny offered.

“Are you _nuts_? My car can't keep up with Red Racer! What if Craig opens it up out there? He's aiming at 180 mph now, on that new pavement!”

“He won't, not with Tweek onboard,” Stan supplied, giving Kyle a hard look. “Isn't there any other way to do this, Kyle? Can't we just, I dunno? Put Tweek in the hospital, or something? Break his leg? Anything to keep him from going?” Stan's eyes filled.

 _I should never have told him,_ Kyle thought, wondering if, on that unknown other side of the crash, if Stan were going on without his super best friend?

“In all those other-dimension-dream-visions, we've all been there,” Kyle faced Stan, “Except you. We're gonna need a guy-in-the-chair with Kenny's computers, that Keith's suped-up. The semi will have a GPS unit we can hack into, and someone is going to have to stay behind to coordinate.”

Tweek brought them all their usual orders, excusing himself to wait on a group of sixth-graders.

Stan gaped at Kyle.

“Y-you're leaving ME behind?!” Stan exclaimed, “After _I_ broke in and modified Craig's turbocharger?!”

Kyle took his hand. “Stan, someone has to do it.”

Stan bowed his head. “You don't know what comes after?”

“No,” Kyle answered flatly.

“That can only mean one thing,” Kenny pointed out.

“We _all_ know what it means,” Butters added, looking away.

“Someone always dies,” Keith nodded, “For all we've done, for all the things we've changed, the people we've brought back, someone _always_ dies.”

“Usually me,” Kenny attempted a joke, but it wasn't funny. He put his hand on Butters' left cheek, turning Butters' head back to face them. “Funny, in all this time, I've only managed to get killed once.”

“It wasn't worth it,” Butters mumbled. “I was fine with one good eye.”

“I don't get that,” Stan grumbled, shooting Kyle a hard look, “When old Cartman vanished, you said a bunch of shit changed? Like, him being released in eighth grade and us meeting up in town one night? Him thinking that I was Eclipse? His tablet disappearing, and him going right back to juvie? So how come Butters still has Kenny's eye, if Kenny came back? How's that work?”

“No idea,” Kenny shrugged, “And I don't care.” He held Butters' hand tightly.

“Once this loop breaks, it's over,” Keith reminded them.

“Yeah, REALLY over for one of us,” Stan repeated dismally.

“Stan?” Kyle offered in a pained voice.

“It should have been – should be – me,” Kenny cut in. “This was always _my_ responsibility, Kyle, not yours.”

“No, I'm the one who does...did...this to you,” Kyle countered. “ _I'm_ the mistake, remember? I'm _not_ supposed to be here.”

They argued about it for a while longer. Some homework got done, not much. Craig showed up an hour or so later, happy that he'd gotten his car back in tune. It seemed like a typical night at Tweek's, as plans were finalized for the following night.

“Keith and I will be there, waiting to set off The Melting Clock Paradox,” Kyle explained, “While Stan tracks the truck's GPS from Kenny's lair, and the tracker that Keith sneaked onto Red Racer. Kenny and Butters will follow them, sending position reports, as well as follow-up once we end this shit for good.”

“Just one problem – we don't have a source of power big enough to ignite the whole chronoton field and set off the Paradox.”

“Yes we do,” Kyle disagreed, but he declined to say what.

“Uhm, what happens with this Paradox-thingie?” Butters wondered.

“Time slows to a gradual stop,” Keith explained, eyeing Kyle, “With the Discriminators, Kyle and I will be able to monitor the crash, frame-by-frame, you might say, to make sure that Craig's whip-maneuver works. Red Racer, with a bit of help from Eclipse, will slide right under the semi trailer, and continue on down the highway.”

“And then time explodes, throws Another-Kenny back in time to bring on Eclipse, Our-Kenny breaks out of his loop, and Kyle dies!” Stan threw up his hands. “Easy as that! And we all live happily ever after? What the fuck-kinda-plan is _this_?!”

“No,” Keith looked away. “There's a pretty good chance that once this paradox goes off, that I might not even come back to begin with. I'm the one who went rogue, remember?”

“ _You_ probably caused all this, Keith,” Stan snorted bitterly.

“HEY!” Kyle snapped at him.

“Well, it's true! If _they'd_ all just stayed in their own time, none of this would have happened! He was sent back to fucking _kill_ you, Kyle!”

“My time SUCKED!” Keith retorted.

“That wasn't _our_ fault!” Stan replied hotly.

“Uhhh, yeah, it WAS!” Keith glared at him.

“You guys OK over here?” Tweek asked, looking nervous again. “God, I don't wanna go to that conference in Denver on Saturday!” He looked hard at Kyle.

“So don't go?” Stan shrugged, “Easy as that.”

“It's too important,” Tweek sighed, “For all those kids out there like me and Craig. Who knows what lives we'll change by going? There's kids out there who need to hear us, guys!”

Tweek turned and walked away, grumbling about how Trent Boyette should never have introduced him, or conned him into those duets.

 _He knows, and he's still going_? Kyle thought. _Shit! And in saving Trent, I gave Time another way to kill Tweek!_

“Grammy Award winning keyboardist and singer, came out at age 9, accepted by his hometown, subject of endless yaoi art?” Kenny mused.

“Can't you, like, change his mind?” Stan hissed at Kyle, “Put him to sleep for two days, or something? I mean, what kind of … of a … _Demigod_ are you?!”

“ _Demigod_?” Kyle gasped.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Kenny offered, as the door bells jingled.

“Guys!” Kevin Stoley panted, “You wanna see something cool? Korx! I mean, Keith! Look at this!” Kevin held up his left hand, where he wore a very bulky diver's watch that put off the faintest blue glow.

“Here we go loop-DE-loop,” Kenny sighed.

“Awwwww,” Stan pinched his nose and bonked his head on the table.

“Kev, what did we say about that?” Keith reminded him gently.

“Oh, it's OK! Bradley has gone back to Kokujon, you know, and it doesn't do much now, but for this-”

“ **NO**!” They all yelled at Kevin, who touched the 'watch', and instantly there appeared a line of Kevins, overlapping, coming in the door. “Guys!” They all said at once, “You wanna see something cool!”

“Fuck,” Kenny growled. “I thought you said it took him 30 years to invent that thing?” He blurted out, as Butters, too late, clapped a hand over Kenny's mouth.

“Neat, huh?!” The one Kevin asked, not having heard Kenny. “That's all it does, though. Just makes, like, a one second temporal overlap.”

“Stay with it, Kev,” Keith assured him, “You'll get it.”

“Have a cappuccino with us, Kevin,” Kyle encouraged him.

“Really?” Kevin seemed surprised. Then he smiled.

 **FRIDAY NIGHT** :

Two cars headed up Route 73 out of Conifer: a classic red Corvette, and a deep blue late-model Impala. The Impala hung back, just out of clear visual range of the 'Vette. Just another two cars on the highway, headed who-knew-where.

“Craig, Butters and Kenny are following us,” Tweek observed.

“Yeah, I spotted 'em back at the Conifer turn-off,” Craig agreed. “You'd think those two would have the balls to just _go_ to the conference?”

“Maybe they wanna surprise us?” Tweek wondered, as they drove on. “Craig, what do I say to these kids? I mean, what if they ask about Trent? Or say, Keith?”

“Tell them the truth, Babe,” Craig shrugged, “It's the best thing. I just wish we could have talked Kyle and Keith into coming, for the nonbinary crowd.”

Some miles up the road, they spotted emergency responders' lights. Craig rolled up to the roadblock, where a State Trooper greeted them.

“Sorry, boys. County road overpass collapse. Some crazy tri-axle driver, overloaded,” the officer told them, “You'll have to double back and take 285!” He looked them over, noting the rainbow flag patches on their blue jackets. “LGBT+ Youth Conference in Denver?”

“Yes, sir?” Craig fought down the urge to flip him off and just peel out.

Tweek was fidgeting, Craig put his right hand on Tweek's left.

“Have a good time, boys,” the officer dismissed them with a smile.

“Craaaaaig?” Tweek fretted, “We can't get on 285!”

“It'll be fine, Babe, trust me. I know. Since we know what happened, it wont' happen now,” Craig assured him.

“Kyle said the same thing,” Tweek sighed.

“I know,” Craig answered confidently.

“Pull off over there!” Kenny pointed to the off-ramp, as soon as he saw the lights ahead. Once Craig had passed in the opposite direction, they began their pursuit again. Once they had turned off onto 285, Butters noticed something.

“Craig's slowing down and getting over, every time he sees an oncoming truck,” Butters pointed out.

In Red Racer, Tweek noticed the same thing. “You know what Kenny said about this road, Craig?”

“I know,” Craig sighed again, “And I'm not going to let anything happen to us, Babe.”

_I'm gonna die in that car?  
Not this time, Tweek._

They drove on into the night.

At Kenny's lair, Stan Marsh was fuming as he monitored the computers and sent position reports out over their comms. He touched a button on his upgraded Toolshed helmet, which had sat in the closet for almost two years. “The truck's left the warehouse, on schedule, on 285. You're telling me that Tweek was killed by a load of toilet paper?!”

“Yes,” Eclipse's voice came over the headset.

“Fucking ridiculous,” Stan complained, “They're all on course.”

“Craig's taking it about 75 mph, he's slowing down and getting over every time he sees a truck,” Kenny's voice came over the comm system.

“We're in place out here,” Keith added.

Out on that lonely stretch of 285, Eclipse and Keith waited, hidden by a low billboard. Visible only to Eclipse, that familiar line of Eclipses appeared along the road. Then, one by one, they all coalesced into Eclipse-Prime. At his feet lay the cobalt meteorite.

 _This is where it lands, some 500 years from now._  
Ironic.  
Poetic?  
Necessary!

They stared at the spot on the highway that they both knew so well.

 _Was that a voice carried on the wind_?

“I've hacked the _**On-Star**_ on Cartman's van. He's on course,” Stan reported. “All that shit he went though, gets off on a technicality, and now he steals a car to drive without a license?”

“Figures,” Kenny mumbled through the headset of his Mysterion costume.

“Tell me you guys didn't dress up?” Stan groaned.

“Didn't you?” Chaos asked in reply, with a laugh.

“God, I love having MPD!” Kenny laughed too.

“Kyle?” Stan then asked.

He waited.

“We wait,” Kyle replied, as the line went quiet.

Time passed.

Or didn't.

For Eclipse, it didn't matter.

He was there.

The truck was coming.

“Contact!” His voice broke the comm silence.

“I see it!” Kenny agreed.

“Cartman's right behind him!” Stan cut in.

“Kick it, Leo!” Kenny ordered.

“Oh, hamburgers!” Butters fretted, opening up the Impala's 327 to catch up to Red Racer. “I've never gone this fast, Ken!”

“ _Truck_!” Tweek pointed out. “Craig, we're not supposed to _be_ here!”

“I see it!” Craig agreed, slowing, easing over as if to stop.

“I have Cartman!” Keith interjected, “He's right on the truck's bumper!”

_There were four lights..._

“Steady,” Eclipse breathed, as he began to pixelate. He took a long look at Keith as his mask vanished. They shared a kiss, and then Eclipse took the cobalt meteorite in his hands.

Rising slowly into the air, he moved to hover over the highway.

To eclipse it.

The semi and Cartman were coming, the minivan drafting in its wake, hidden from oncoming traffic.

From the opposite lane, Red Racer was coming.

But Craig Tucker knew.

Stan bolted from his chair, exiting the house, and jumping into his Jeep. “Guy in the chair, my _ass_!” He exclaimed, as the Jeep's 340-tribute engine roared to life.

“Tomorrow is yesterday is tomorrow,” Eclipse said to himself.

Looking down, he saw the blue glow of Keith's Discriminator, pulsing blue in time with his own. He looked back to the tan minivan, and the faintest hint of the thought in Cartman's brain sounded louder than thunder in Eclipse's mind: “I'm passing this douchebag!”

Cartman's hand moved on the steering wheel.

The minivan changed lanes, coming head-on at Red Racer.

There were four lights.

“CRAIG!” Tweek screamed.

Craig Tucker's foot slammed the clutch and brake as his hand threw the shifter to third gear. He cut the wheel, popped the suicide clutch, and slammed the accelerator to the floor. Under the hood, Red Racer's engine opened up for all she had.

And more.

The blue crystal in the fuel line lit up.

The truck driver swerved, going into a jackknife, the trailer coming around.

“FUCK!” Cartman gasped, swerving for the median to avoid them, as Red Racer went from the shoulder to the driving lane again.

Blue fire shot from the tailpipes of Red Racer, as the brand new back tires literally ignited, whipping the car sideways across both lanes. The tachometer shot into the red.

Black marks were laid on the pavement.

Craig missed the minivan by inches.

“FUCKING MORON!” Craig screamed.

Craig's right arm then slammed Tweek over the head, forcing him down to the floorboard. Glancing up, Craig had just enough time to see the familiar figure descending from the sky.

Behind him was the full moon, and the figure glowed blue in what made Craig think of a total eclipse.

“That's _my_ fucking meteorite, Kyle!” He shouted, as Red Racer's ass-end began to come around. Craig let it, holding his breath.

Blue light reflected off of a bumper sticker of a line of guinea pigs.

Then he threw the shifter into fourth, slamming his foot to the floor again, and cutting the wheel in the opposite direction. The turbo boost gauge pegged.

Red Racer straightened and opened up, gaining speed.

Or was she?

“STAY DOWN!” Craig screamed at Tweek.

Eclipse threw the meteorite down at the highway.

 **Five hundred years later** :

The meteor crashed into the flatland along what had once been Router 285, sending a surge of chronoton radiation into the Timeline.

 **The Present** :

“NOW!” Eclipse screamed into the night, as like Craig's engine, his powers opened up for all they were worth.

As they never had before.

The Total Eclipse.

At that one word, the cobalt meteorite exploded above the highway in time with the two Temporal Discriminators. Atoms split, time slowed, and the proverbial clock began to melt as chronotons from two sources, present and future, intersected.

A reaction in Time itself began to build.

Craig Tucker felt as if time were slowing down as the semi trailer slid sideways at him. He'd heard people say that it felt like that, in a crash. He wasn't sure they'd fit under it. At the very least, he'd have a convertible, if the top tore off!

“What the fuuucccckkkkk?” Craig wondered, his head moving so slowly, out of tune with his brain. _Was that Eclipse floating over the highway_?

_He can fly?!_

The Universe seemed to be holding its breath.

Perhaps a tenth of a mile back, Kenny saw the sky light up in those familiar, damnable colors. The Impala was slowing.

“Keeennnnnnnnnyyyyyy?” Butters asked slowly, as vapor trails of light began to stretch from all points. It reminded Kenny of _**Star Trek: The Motion Picture**_.

And then Time stopped.

All around them, nothing moved.

Nothing, but for the swirling hell-storm of color filling the sky.

And in the middle of that storm, Eclipse began to descend like some dark, avenging angel who would not – could not – be stopped.

“Butters?” Kenny asked, but Butters was frozen. Kenny, dressed as Mysterion, jumped out of the unmoving Impala and ran for all he was worth. Unnoticed on his left palm, a point of light shone as the sky above.

The remains of his Discriminator sparking on his wrist, burning him, Keith ran up to the frozen Corvette. He yanked the passenger's door open, the hood of the car just under the semi trailer.

It wasn't going to fit.

Tweek was curled up, head down.

Keith rigged the seat belt so that Tweek _couldn't_ raise up.

On the driver's side, Eclipse gasped for breath as he got his footing. He made sure that Craig was in fourth gear, his foot on the floor. He then pointed a finger at the trailer's back axle, freezing the gears and raising the rear end up, to send it into a slide with some lift. He grabbed the 'Vette's shifter and put it in neutral, straightening the steering wheel.

A sudden wind began to tear at them, roaring.

“We don't have long!” Keith shouted, panting as well, “It's not the wind! The temporal stresses are gonna tear us apart, when the two streams of chronotons explode! The Discriminators weren't supposed to blow!”

“KYLE!” Kenny gasped, as he ran up to them, cape flapping.

“How the hell are _you_ moving?” Keith gasped.

“No idea!” Kenny shouted in reply, as his nose began to bleed.

“You'll be killed!” Keith screamed.

“Oh well!” Kenny retorted, the lower exposed part of his face red and raw already.

“Push!” Eclipse snapped, as the three of them pushed Red Racer under the slowly rising and jackknifing trailer.

In the median, the minivan began to move, ever so slightly. A hum began to sound, and they realized it was the skidding trailer tires beginning to move.

“We're almost outta time!” Keith exclaimed.

“No shit!” Mysterion agreed, as that 'wind' tore at his cape, shredding it.

Miles and miles back, Stan buried the speedometer of the Jeep. Up ahead, he saw color in the sky.

“No, no, no!” He gasped, feeling as if he were getting no closer, even slowing down.

The three of them pushed Red Racer straight under the trailer. Bits and pieces of Eclipse were disappearing and reappearing as he moved Craig's leg and the shifter, trotting along to keep up with the slowly rolling car. Back in fourth gear, the accelerator slammed again, clutch out, the wheels pointed straight ahead.

Blue light, frozen, shone from under the hood and out the tailpipes.

“The crystals are about exhausted!” Keith reminded them, as they all stepped back.

Overhead, the two chronoton streams hit the breaking point.

Time Itself exploded.

Kyle felt as if something had been physically ripped right out of his body, as the pain struck him.

Eclipse's mask tore away, and his cape began to shred. Blood ran from under his hood, as he felt blood vessels bursting. Bits and pieces of his costume blew away on the wind, upon where there seemed to ride a high, clear voice: _**Gloria**_ **!**

Kenny and Keith stared in shock.

The semi was ever so slowly sliding off the pavement.

Red Racer was gaining speed, straight and true, pointed at Denver – and safety.

Cartman's minivan was sliding out of the median, pointed at Conifer.

Down the road, the Impala's headlights shone.

Far behind it, another pair shone.

The three of them moved out of the way.

 _We've won_!

Eclipse then laid a hand on Kenny and Keith each, standing between them in the grassy strip.

Green grass. Not red.

There was no blood on the highway.

Pale blue light surrounded Keith and Kenny, protecting them from the temporal stresses that were tearing the unshielded Eclipse apart.

_No greater love than this..._

“Be!” Eclipse simply said, his voice rasping, as even more black bits began to tear away from his costume, drifting like snowflakes on the wind mingled with bits of flesh.

Time resumed its normal shape.

Eclipse screamed, pushing his two friends away with all that remained in him. Kenny and Keith tumbled into the grass, away from Eclipse.

Red Racer shot off towards Denver, safely away from the nightmare, looking like the special effects of a TV starship going into warp.

The semi flipped over. The minivan hit the pavement, straightened, and headed on.

“Craig, you dumbass!” Cartman complained.

The Impala snapped back to speed.

“Kenny?!” Butters wondered, finding himself alone, and at nearly 110 mph! “Shit!” He gasped, seeing the oncoming van, which passed him with a honk of the horn and went on its way. Butters slammed the brakes, skidding to a halt in front of the flipped semi.

Toilet paper covered the highway and grass, the trailer split open.

Back a ways, the Jeep began to shake under the stress of the too-powerful engine. Stan Marsh figured he was near 140 mph, and it wasn't enough.

Up ahead, the undamaged Red Racer sped on for a moment, tach and boost gauge both pegged.

“Craig, I'm caught in the seat belts!” Tweek exclaimed.

Then, thanks to Stan's over-boost tampering, the turbocharger exploded and Red Racer stalled.

“ **FUCK** ME!” Craig snarled, limping the car over to the shoulder and turning on the flashers. “Waste gate failure!”

“WE ALMOST DIED!” Tweek screamed, as they jumped out of the car.

Craig held Tweek until the shaking and screaming had passed, feeling his heart beginning to slow.

“It's, OK, Babe. I've got you!” Craig's voice cracked. _They knew! They knew, and I didn't believe them!_

“That idiot almost hit us head-on!” Tweek cried. “AIGH! We went _under_ the trailer, Craig! Just like in a movie!”

“I think we'll call it 'The Craig Maneuver', Honey?” Craig them smiled.

They looked back. In the distance, faint sirens blared. It was hard to tell how close they were, given the plain.

“We should see if they're OK?” Tweek offered, as they began to walk back, hand in hand.

“Kenny!” Butters exclaimed, jumping out of the car.

Then he saw the three of them: Eclipse, or what remained of him, stood between Kenny and Keith, arms out, as if still holding them back.

And he was rapidly losing cohesion.

“I...I think I … overdid it?” Eclipse rasped, as his hood blew away.

Overhead, the black sky was filled with stars.

Kenny reached for him, but instead pulled his glove off. His hand was hot.

On his palm shone a single point of light.

That light went out.

 **END OF JUNIOR YEAR, Timeline Hence** :

As the thunder crashed a split-second later, and the shop class windows exploded, showering the wreck of Red Racer in more broken glass, Kenny pulled the trigger as a bolt of blinding lightning annihilated the auto shop classroom.

There was no pain.

Only the Void.

“Oh, hell, not again?!” He groaned, as the fallout of the temporal explosion in his past took him away to The Void again.

“Go,” Other-Kenny told him, giving him that same point of light.

The grapes Butters had given him weren't sour at all.

Kenny choked on one.

Then the cafeteria began to spin away in a blur, like a movie playing at 1000x speed.

Kenny then found himself standing out on 285.

 **THE PRESENT** :

Kenny blinked.

He stared at his hand.

_Is this how Kyle – Eclipse – perceives the world?_

“The l-loop,” Eclipse rasped, “Has … broken!”

Kenny and Keith moved to catch Kyle as he collapsed, but their hands passed right though him. What remained of his costume was steaming in what looked like black vapor.

“So be it,” Kyle then choked out those final words, as Stan's Jeep came roaring up, and Stan jumped out.

Kyle sank to his knees at the edge of the pavement, what remained of his hand touching the skid marks. His black glove was gone, as were half of his fingers.

“KYLE!” Stan screamed, running towards him.

Kyle reached out his other dissolving hand.

 _Stan,_ he sent that last thought, his powers exhausted, unable to draw breath for the word.

Stan reached out to him, tears streaking his face.

Their fingertips _almost_ met.

And then Eclipse simply turned to dust and blew away.

“KYYYYYLE!” Stan cried, as the lights and sirens grew ever closer.

Kenny and Keith caught Stan instead.

No one moved. No one spoke. It felt as if time had stopped again, but of course, it hadn't.

It was moving on.

Moving on without one of them.

“He's gone, Stan,” Keith said softly.

Stan collapsed into their arms, sobbing.

At the side of the road, and since he wasn't sure what to do, Butters (in costume) went to help the truck driver out.

“Professor Chaos?” the man gasped in shock. “The car – is it...?”

“You missed it,” Chaos assured him, as the driver passed out.

“We're OK,” Craig called out, as he and Tweek came running up. “More than I can say for Red. I think she popped her turbo.”

“What _hap_ pened?” Tweek gasped.

“You're OK?” Kenny exclaimed.

“It was amazing!” Craig replied, “Did you guys _see_ it?” Then he saw Stan. “Wait, why were you all following us?”

“Stan?” Tweek asked.

“What's happened?” Craig asked again, looking up in realization. “I saw...Eclipse? I think?”

And Tweek knew.

“He's gone,” Tweek mumbled, looking confused, “Kyle. He was Eclipse. And he's gone.”

“Tweek?” Craig wondered.

“We crashed,” Tweek nodded sadly, “The _first_ time. And they knew it? Kyle knew it; knew the future. He...he saved us?” Tweek wiped his face on his sleeve.

“He put right what once went wrong,” Kenny added, “When I couldn't.”

“When I didn't believe it,” Craig admitted. “God, I'm so sorry!”

They held one another, Tweek and Craig. It was impossible to tell who broke down first.

“K-Kyle?” Stan whimpered, staring at the small dusty spot at the pavement's edge.

There was no blood.

Only a bit of dust, that soon blew away from Stan's fingertips.

They stood in silence yet again, gathered protectively around Stan. For all of them, the initial shock was bad enough. The worst, some of them knew, however, was yet to come: when it really hit them.

From Red Racer's radio, they could just make out the words to “Hold My Hand.”

“We have to get out of here,” Kenny then advised, “Tweek and Craig need to see the cops, but the rest of us need to GO! Get Stan in the Jeep. I'll drive.”

Stan looked up at the night sky full of stars, dragging his hands across the pavement, tearing them raw.

Stan's hands bled.

Blood stained the pavement once again.

“ **KYLE**!” He screamed again, his anguish echoing across the plain and off of the distant mountains, returning to him.

Stan covered his face, his tears mixing with the bloody, black soot that covered his hands.

“KYLE!” Each fading syllable returned, more painful than the last.

But there was no reply.

 


	40. Tomorrow Is Yesterday Is Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the crash prevented and Tweek's & Craig's lives saved, the future Timeline has reset again.  
> The temporal explosion, however, had some unintended consequences that must be repaired.  
> You can't have a future without a past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who stayed with this monster, leaving kudos and comments along the way. I never intended for it to get this out of hand. This isn't the first novel-length disaster I've written, and when you've "lived" in a world like this for a while, it's hard to say goodbye to it. But as Neil Young wrote a long time ago, "It's over, thank God it's over..."
> 
> Just make sure you make it to the ending credits scene!
> 
> Somewhat fitting that this comes to a close on Groundhog Day!

**The Boy in the Yellow Poofball Hat**

**40**

**Tomorrow Is Yesterday Is Tomorrow**

*****

**The Conclusion**

*****

_I know you're out there somewhere._  
 _Somewhere, somewhere._  
 _I know I'll find you somehow._  
 _And somehow_  
 _I'll return again to you._  
©1988-The Moody Blues

*****

Blackness.

Nothingness.

And yet … Consciousness?

_I am ?_

_I am !_

The Consciousness drifted in the blackness. For how long, it didn't know. As it slowly grew in awareness, it began to realize that there...there should be something.

_Something ?_

_Be ?_

_Something should BE … somewhere ?_

But nothing was.

Wasn't the nothing a 'something', though, if the Consciousness could observe such?

In the blackness, that Consciousness pondered nothing. Literally.

Eventually, perhaps moments, perhaps eons, it began to realize that it didn't like the blackness.

It knew, somehow, that there should be something...else.

What?

Finally, it knew.

_Not-black?_

_LIGHT!_ It finally realized, as if this insight should affect the blackness.

And it did.

The resulting explosion of light and sound violently reminded the Consciousness that it could see and hear.

And something else: Movement. It was tumbling through the light.

It had started out as one tiny prick of not-black, that light. The Consciousness recognized it; it had seen it before. And it wanted more, it realized, as it studied the light.

It got more than it bargained for, as the tiny point exploded right before it.

Myriad swirls of light took on … _color_ … filling the blackness, driving away the nothingness.

“Let there be light!” It could hear its own … voice … shouting back the darkness.

_My voice? But it wasn't my voice? Some other place, some other time?_

_Time_?

“About _time_ you got here,” Another then responded, “I've been waiting for you, you know.”

“You?” The Consciousness wondered, slowly realizing that it was no longer alone.

A shape began to form up in the swirling colors.

It looked familiar. It looked like a ...

“Child?”

“Congratulations, Kyle, you've just created the Universe. Welcome to the Big Bang!”

“Universe?” The Consciousness-called-Kyle wondered. “Cre-ated?”

 _Words_. Familiar, yet incomprehensible.

“There was nothing, now there's everything. At least, the potential for everything,” The Other explained, “And you did that.”

“You? Me?”

“Created you in my own image, didn't I?” The Other asked. “But this time, you beat me to the Creation Itself!” The Other waited. When it received no reply, the child-shape began to form up out of the color, until it stood out.

So familiar...it had...a face?

“Let me help you out, there, Kyle. Your wits seem a bit scrambled!” It laughed, and the sound seemed to affect the colors. They seemed to spread, expanding, separating. “Rather, your wits seem to be _obliterated_.”

The child laid a hand on Kyle's … hand?

 _I have hands_?

“You have a form, you know,” The Other advised, as Kyle realized that it was all coming back to him then.

“My name is ... Kyle Broflovski!” He declared, looking around in wonder. “Wait, what did you just say?”

“About your wits?”

“No, before that?”

“That you just created the universe? So?” The Other seemed unimpressed.

“You look like me?” Kyle observed, as that came back to him, too. “OH NO! Not that again!” Kyle added hotly.

“Not _what_ again? You can't have 'again', Kyle. We've not had 'yet' yet!”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Kyle asked in reply, “How long have I been here? What about my -”

He remembered the temporal explosion.

He remembered the gravestone.

_So be it !_

“- my friends,” Kyle's voice fell to a whisper. “My friends. I saved them, but I...I died?”

“You did _more_ than die, son!” The Other smiled, taking Kyle's hand again, “You _obliterated_ yourself.”

“I don't understand?” Kyle shrugged, now that he found he had shoulders, as well as hands.

 _Hold my hand_...

“An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. You went up against Time itself, Kyle. Punched it right in the face, so to say. It wasn't too happy with you, so when it lost, it got even with you – and here you are!” The Other explained.

“Here?”

“So to speak. There's really neither a _here_ nor a _there_ yet. We haven't gotten to that part,” The Other shrugged.

“I know you?” Kyle thought for a moment, as things that he thought he should remember hovered just on the verge of memory. Familiar things, like, what were the names of those wonderful colors? “I...I created the Universe? I thought God did that?” Kyle then gasped.

The Other simply shrugged. “Like I said, you beat me to it. I guess that means that _you_ got the job this time, Kyle!” He smiled.

“You are _not_ God!” Kyle scoffed, “And I certainly AM NOT!”

“What IS IT with you _Jews_?” The Other sighed, throwing up his hands. Was that an 'orange' jacket he was wearing? A green hat?

_No one wears hats anymore..._

“Jews?” Kyle wondered.

“We'll get around to that, Kyle, once they have a planet to stand on, that is,” The Other smiled. “You don't seem to understand, Kyle,” The Other then told him bluntly, “You're not corporeal anymore. You blew yourself to bits, expending every bit of power – what makes you 'you' – when you decided that the Universe wasn't what you thought it should be. When you arrived here, scattered as you were, it took eons for your disconnected bits of … you … to put enough of themselves back together - enough to realize that you still existed. Consciousness _can't_ be destroyed, you know, no more than matter can, but you've come closer to it than anyone ever has ...or will.”

“What do you mean, 'will'?” Kyle snapped.

“There _isn't_ anyone else, Kyle,” The Other informed him. “You and I are it! So I'd suggest that you get busy!”

“Busy with what?” Kyle demanded.

The Other held up his hands, and Kyle then realized that he was indeed staring at himself. Right down to the fluffy red Jewfro.

“Why, the rest of the Creation, of course!” The Other laughed.

“Are you NUTS?!” Kyle squeaked in surprise, as more and more of it began to come back to him.

“You were the one who said that he was, oh, how did it go? 'I am Everything, and Nothing! I am everywhere, and nowhere.' Yes, that was it, Kyle. See? This is what you get for thinking that you could have done a better job with how the Universe, Time if you will, was running.”

Kyle remembered.

Orange.

Kenny.

“Kyle, there's been an accident. Tweek's dead!”

“And what if I decide not to?” Kyle challenged The Other, as more and more of what had once been known as “Kyle Broflovski” came back to him:

> Ike  
>  Keith  
>  Eric, Stan, and Kenny.  
>  The four of them.  
>  Butters  
>  Tweek  
>  Craig  
>  Tweek & Craig  
>  Craig & Those Guys  
>  _Wait?_ Tweek!

“I saved Tweek! I saved them ALL!” Kyle declared defiantly.

“You destroyed Stan in the process, though? Not to mention yourself,” The Other reminded him.

All around them, colors swirled. Now and then, like the Great Red Spot on Jupiter, a hole would open, revealing blackness. Then it would close.

“But before you get started, Kid, let me remind you of this: Once you create Time, and it gets up and running again, you'll find that it's not such a good idea to tamper with it. Pull one stray thread, and the whole garment may come unraveled. Then again, I think you've already learned _that_ lesson?” The Other thought for a moment. Or forever. There was really no way to tell.

“Let me put it this way, Kyle. Everyone who will ever exist, well – almost everyone – will someday come to the delusional realization that they could have done a better job with all this,” the Other gestured about. “They'd be much better off to just enjoy it, go with it, and just let the rest be. That's what I do, you know.”

“I never wanted to remodel the whole damn Universe!” Kyle retorted hotly, as somewhere 'over there', something exploded. They looked to see another 'thing' taking shape, and Kyle recognized it from his memory of a picture: the formation of a galaxy. “A picture from one of Craig's books.”

“Yes, and you've only got six days, Kid, so get busy!” The Other laughed, “If you want somewhere for everyone to live, I'd suggest you start with getting that proto-nebula over there, fresh as it is, to start forming up a star and then spitting out planets. I'd suggest at least two of the M-Class type!”

Kyle stared at him in shock.

“Shut your mouth, or you'll catch asteroids,” The Other smiled, pointing at a colorful, smoking mass of...something. “That's supposed to be Andromeda. Get to it!”

“Andromeda – the _Galaxy_?!” Kyle gasped in shock. “But it's tiny?”

“Bit slow on the uptake, aren't you? You still feeling a bit scattered, kid?”

“Uhm, yeah,” Kyle admitted, still trying to sort out the fact that he was, indeed, Kyle.

 _Wasn't that enough_?

“Not if you want to have somewhere to live, to say nothing of everyone else,” The Other reminded him, as if knowing what Kyle were thinking.

Then again, wouldn't they?

“You remember your Holy Book, Kyle?” The Other then asked. “What did it say about 'speaking the worlds' into existence?”

“But how can I do that, when I won't know the end results? How can I just say, 'Be a galaxy!' and expect one to form up?”

“Why don't you try it? It's just a bunch of random stars and stuff, isn't it? Put it all in place, and it'll sort itself out in a few billion years,” The Other shrugged. “Here,” the Other then grabbed a handful of the swirling colors and played with it a bit. “We'll call this one 'M-33', and put it over there on the far side of Triangulum, shall we?”

And The Other did that. “Be,” He ordered it, and it was.

Kyle was amazed.

“I told it to be, and now it is,” The Other reminded him. He let Kyle think about it for a moment. “This could go badly, on second thought. No rhythm, and don't even like to sing.”

Kyle remembered that.

He also remembered someone who could sing.  
Who once sang.  
Who _would_ sing.  
Two of them, in fact.

Kyle looked for that memory, and found it: a young, blond boy was sitting at an organ in a church. He was getting ready to play a new composition he'd written. Kyle himself was sitting, hidden, in the back room, monitoring the recording equipment.

It would be such a surprise, in that he would have captured that song.

“It _was_ glorious, wasn't it?” The Other reminded him.

Kyle nodded. More than anything, he really wanted to hear that music again.

He wanted to hear that voice again.

“You won't hear it again, though, if you deny him Existence,” The Other advised.

And so he remembered the song – and then let it out with a single thought.

 _ **Gloria**_!

The result was beyond description, beyond belief.

As those seven syllables resounded from Kyle's very Being, the surrounding colors and shapes all blew apart, spreading out, forming up smudges and shapes and blobs that Kyle also remembered seeing in a picture.

The Universe was expanding.

“Those are all galaxies, each one of them composed of trillions of stars,” someone had once said. “And around many of those stars, planets. And on some of those planets, surely, life!”

“Craig,” Kyle whispered, remembering those lines from an oral report that Craig had done in school.

The Universe was expanding.

Kyle focused on one of the smudges. It reminded him of a squashed yellow poofball.

And he waited.

“Be,” he finally told it.

And it was.

“So what do we do now?” He asked the Other.

“Wait. Let it simmer for a while.”

And so Kyle did that.

He watched as the nebula formed up a star in the center. It burned, grew, contracted, as chunks of material that would form planets began to coalesce as the edge of the disk. Eventually, the orbs began to move around the star. Eventually, they even changed their orbits. Gas giants formed close to the star, moved further away, destroying a few smaller, rocky worlds in their wake. Others moved with them, becoming moons. Others lagged behind, settling into new orbits closer to the sun. Smaller ones took up orbit around the planets.

“So much for the first day,” The Other commented. “Next up – oceans and land? Then plants, animals?”

Kyle turned away.

“Something wrong, Kyle?”

“It'll just happen all over again,” Kyle sighed. “What's the point?”

“You don't want to do this, after all?” The Other wondered. “I'm surprised. That's a rare thing, Kyle. Thank you!”

“I broke Kenny out of the loop, finally,” Kyle sighed in resignation, “But we're just starting the whole mess all over again, aren't we?” Kyle repeated.

“Wasn't the very _first_ run a success? I think your friend, Korx, said that?” The Other reminded him. “It all sort of went south, though, didn't it? At least, for his people. When one of them first messed with time?”

Kyle considered the paradox.

“I won't do it,” Kyle finally decided.

“You'd deny them all existence, then?”

“EXISTENCE?! Is _that_ what you call it?” Kyle exclaimed, a familiar surge of righteous anger building up within him. “All those things that went wrong, that we tried so hard to put right?” He threw his 'hands' up in exasperation.

“Time is up and running, Kyle. All those things are now there, somewhere down the line,” The Other reminded him. “When it all exploded into being, it was all set in motion again.”

Somewhere, out there, Kyle felt – more than heard – an explosion.

And it somehow felt familiar.

“A star just went supernova?” Kyle observed, and he could see the huge chunk of material expelled from the wreckage of that star that wallowed in its death throes.

“Happens all the time?” The Other shrugged, turning in the direction of the constellation Orion.

Kyle remembered.

“There's a big chunk of Cobalt-54, Iridium, nickel, maybe some neutronium, headed for Earth, isn't there? And it's going to hit just outside of South Park? Out on Route 285?” Kyle demanded to know.

But he already knew.

“Yes, because _you_ put it there, Kyle,” The Other told him coldly. “I didn't do all this. YOU did!”

“NO!” Kyle retorted, “Not _this_ time!”

The thought was all it took. Still, Kyle tended to think like a corporeal being. He reached out a hand, caught the meteoroid, and crushed it.

“Well, _that's_ certainly a deal-breaker!” The Other exclaimed. “No cobalt core, no time machine, no time travel? No Goobacks, no Korx, and none of this mess for Kenny? Moreover, no Eclipse? What now, Kyle? Will you just drift through Eternity, all alone?”

Something that Korx – that Keith – had said: “Sometimes, if you go back far enough, it's possible to outrun the changes in time.”

“I've gone back as far as one can,” Kyle explained, “I am, and I will yet be! I can't be wiped out, because if I am, then ALL of it's wiped out! If what you're saying is true, then without me, NOW, there's no universe! And since I AM, then what follows must BE! If I'm here, there has to be a Kyle down there,” he pointed at the Earth, “Or else I won't...” he paused. “Shit!”

“Very good, Kyle,” The Other congratulated him. “So, I take it you're willing to just let things turn out the way they should? You ready to leave all the hard stuff to me now?”

“I never wanted it to begin _with_! You think _Kenny_ did? All we wanted was for our friends to not die!” Kyle snapped. “All we wanted was...was a life!”

The Other simply smiled wanly at him.

“You're going to do it, aren't you?” Kyle then asked.

The Other nodded.

“Who died and made _you_ God?” Kyle growled out the tired old cliché.

“Apparently, _you_ did, Son.”

Oddly enough, Kyle felt a slight breeze. He realized that it was the first tactile sensation he'd felt since everything had exploded. It wasn't much of a breeze, but it was there.

And was that the faintest of voices carried on that breeze?

“I'm not God,” Kyle stated again.

“Pity those other 'once-in-a-thousand-years' Beings didn't realize that, too,” The Other then smiled. “Well done, my boy. But you _are_ still Eclipse, _aren't_ you?”

“Am I? It's quiet. I can't hear the others.”

“You're here, aren't you? And isn't this the first pass, in the fresh Kyle-i-verse?” The Other asked in reply. “And like I've already told you, Kyle, if you'd run amok with your abilities, then I'd have taken them away from you. I haven't. You _are_ still here, my boy.”

“What's left of me,” Kyle had to agree.

“That's the thing about matter, remember? It can't _be_ destroyed – only changed,” The Other explained. “What you _were_ is still out there, somewhere. Or will be. It just might take a while to find it, and unlike Humpty Dumpty, to put all the pieces together again?”

“I don't understand?” Kyle admitted. “I was torn apart. I died. I just … blew away? Like dust?”

“Even dust, mixed with water and other minerals, forms concrete, Kyle,” The Other went on. “Observe.” He then reached into the Earth, pulling out a handful of elements. With a thought, those elements formed up into a spiral shape that Kyle recognized.

“DNA?”

“The basis of life,” The Other smiled, “With a small blessing, of course.”

There was a flash of color in the spiral.

“Did you know, Kyle, that when an egg cell is hit by a sperm cell, in higher animal life forms, that is, there's a flash of light? It's been observed, and science can't explain it,” The Other added, smiling.

Below them, the primordial Earth, without form and void, began to turn blue and brown. White clouds filled the skies, and gleaming ice caps formed at the poles. Water receded further, and continents emerged; they were large, oddly shaped, and Kyle didn't recognize them. He knew, of course, that over time, they would break apart, drift, and never really settle.

The Other placed that strand of DNA into the waters.

“BE!”

And it was.

Sections of the brown began to turn green. As he watched the green spreading, Kyle thought he heard birdsong.

“Well, that's all good,” The Other then sighed. “And that's five days, Kid. I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm taking a day off to rest, day after tomorrow!”

Kyle snorted in disbelief. “What about Man?”

“Tomorrow, eventually. I'll get back to that, since you don't seem to want to. Even after all this, you _still_ don't believe it?” The Other laughed.

“You think that _I'm_ going to create Man in _my_ own image?” Kyle scoffed. “Fat chance!”

“I guess that if I don't do it, then, then this Universe will implode? No Man, eventually – no Kyle – and no Universe?” The Other explained. “And here we go loop-de-loop again. You up to that, Kyle?”

“I...I w-won't do that to them – again,” Kyle mumbled.

The Other patted Kyle's shoulder. “OK, I guess that means I'm back to square two, sort of. Thanks for the help, Kid; it's been fun. So where are _you_ off to, now?”

“I'd guess you want me to go look for all those bits and pieces?” Kyle wondered, as an idea began to form in his mind.

“Might take a while, Kid?”

“What's the worst that can happen? I'm _already_ dead!” Kyle decided.

“Perhaps you should _do_ something about that, then?” The Other suggested. “Goodbye, Kyle.”

And then He was gone.

The problem was, Kyle didn't know _what_ to do.

All around him, the Universe continued to expand. Just below him, the Earth continued to turn. Kyle watched it for a while, as lifeforms began to take shape and spread out over the planet. It reminded him of that solar system software that Craig liked to play with, where you sped things up and watched what happened.

Life spread over the planet. The ice caps expanded. Glaciers spread, and the receded. Ocean levels fell and rose. The continents continued to move. One major split even released what Kyle recalled to be “the waters below,” flooding the globe. Then the waters receded again. A great asteroid struck the planet, plunging it into a 'nuclear winter' of sorts.

Still, life came back.

He waited.

After some time, the skies cleared. The green returned.

Kyle noticed, if he looked closely, that Man was on the Earth.

“He did it,” Kyle sighed, pondering all the death, disease, and destruction that was going on below him.

He deigned not to intervene.

And yet Kyle felt so alone.

“I guess I'm the last one, then?” Kyle finally realized, “I'm the _last_ one. _I'm_ the Last Eclipse!”

He knew where he had to go.

Time was up and running. The universe was expanding. Earth was developing.

Kyle turned to stare at the yellow dwarf star that Man would eventually name “Sol”.

> _You are still Eclipse, aren't you ?_

“I am,” Kyle whispered, “I am everywhen, and nowhen!” as Sol began to become more violent, expand, and turn red. He saw Mercury consumed, and then Venus.

And he remembered:

> “No, but I'm Eclipse,” that other Kyle replied, pulling down his cowl to reveal a mostly gray“Jewfro”, as they'd once called it. “The last Eclipse.” He sighed again. “You ever read the short story, **The Inn Outside the World** , Kevin?”
> 
> “No?”
> 
> “You should.”

There was someone he had to meet at 'The Inn'.

Kyle set his sights upon the Earth, and dived.

Behind him, the red sun burned, blasting the Earth, making it unsuitable for life.

 _But what of Mankind_? Kyle realized that he'd forgotten to look!

On the surface, things were just as Kyle remembered them: red, arid, and hot. It was, other than the heat, much like being on Mars. Mars, after it had died, that was. Rather, murdered by a large chunk of Planet Five that had exploded in the Asteroid Belt.

Craig had been fond of that theory.

“And this is the darkening side, at dusk,” Kyle thought, as that Consciousness moved over the surface of the devastated Earth. “Polar, I'll wager. Probably not enough moisture left on this ball of rock to even make weather,” he sighed sadly.

Still, he thought there might be something of a breeze, as he stood in front of a large sheet of heat-blasted silica. With the red light just right, it might have served as a mirror.

But there was nothing to see.

He thought he should remember something else, too, but it was just out of his reach. Kyle found that odd, and somehow refreshing. It was as if there were, impossible as that was, other Kyles of The Collective that he had not yet met. Perhaps Alternate Kyles, an Alternate Collective, that had come and gone so quickly with the shifts in time that he'd never gotten to realize them.

The faint breeze was odd, though. Then again, didn't Mars, for as thin as its atmosphere was, have weather? Dust storms? Hadn't Craig mentioned that? It seemed to Kyle that there might be a weak Dust Devil forming up in the distance, disjointed, as if lost.

As if looking for something.

Matter cannot be destroyed.

> Stan reached out to him, tears streaking his face.
> 
> Their fingertips _almost_ met.
> 
> And then Kyle simply turned to dust and blew away.
> 
> “KYYYYYLE!” Stan cried...

“No, he screamed,” Kyle bowed his 'head', such as it were. Then again, his head was all in his head, so to speak. Now that the Universe was in place; it had been in place for nearly twenty billion years, though, from Kyle's perspective.

The Dust Devil whirled and dissolved, reformed, and whirled some more. Kyle watched it, as the dusk tried to gather. It never really got dark on Earth, he realized, not with that monster of a red star so close.

“Time went on without me, if this planet is still here,” Kyle sighed again. “They all went on without me. Stan went on without me.” He thought again of the cobalt meteoroid leaving Orion, and how he'd destroyed it. Reduced it to atoms. “Keith never even got to...Korx, that is. If they even got a chance to _be_...”

_To be, or not, to be!_

And then he was caught up in that swirling little Dust Devil.

Kyle didn't mind. He just drifted, pondering what might have come to pass, billions of years ago, with no temporal tampering having happened in South Park. Would Craig and Tweek have stayed together? Would Clyde have gone on to play for the Broncos? Would Butters have become a famous artist?

And what of Kenny?

“What becomes of a Lovecraftian Horror, then – a hybrid Old One – with no real purpose to their existence?” Kyle wondered, as the Dust Devil suddenly became annoying. It almost felt as if the thing were peppering his eyes with sand.

> _Matter cannot be destroyed._
> 
> _I suppose you want me to go look for all those lost bits and pieces, then?_

“I am still here!” Kyle then realized, immersing himself in that memory:  
      Stan's hand reaching for his own. Kyle's hand dissolving into black vapor. Almost touching... Black bits of smokey “Kyle” drifting away on the night wind.

Somewhere, out there, were all of those bits.

“Return,” Kyle commanded of himself, as in the multi-hued red of the Dust Devil, he saw a pair of hands beginning to form up.

The ground shook.

Logically, with the gravitational waves of the monster sun, there would surely still be plate tectonics. The crust of the dead Earth would still be moving over an overly excited core, probably boiling and spinning faster and faster, driving the dead world's magnetic field insane.

“Insanity!” Kyle exclaimed, focusing his thoughts on all the raw power of that creation 'gone bad' all around him.

_Everything dies – even you._

_**There's nothin' as sad, except tomorrow gone bad – the future ain't what it used to be!** _

“Or is it?” Kyle smiled, feeling the muscles in his face contract and relax. It had been so long since this kind of sensation. Kyle reveled in it. He let it consume him. And in that consumption, he remembered.

He finally remembered it _all_.

“You're still Eclipse, aren't you?”

“I was, I am, I am yet to BE!” Kyle shouted with his new-found voice, his Will exploding from that simple spinning mass of dust to lash out across the empty planet.

“Even dust, mixed with water and other minerals, forms concrete, Kyle,” The Other went on. “Observe.” He then reached into the Earth, pulling out a handful of elements. With a thought, those elements formed up into a spiral shape that Kyle recognized.

There was one problem: water.

Then, drawn in by the intense gravity and mass, a large comet changed course. Perhaps it had been drawn in by something else. It split the red night with a great roaring sound, filling the sky with burning plasma. Seconds later, and a huge explosion at the horizon sent up a cloud of dust, gases, and most importantly: water vapor. The sky filled with debris, obscuring the deadly sun. Had there been life on the planet, it surely would have been wiped out.

“Thank you!” Kyle exclaimed, the outline in the dust becoming solid, holding up to even the shock wave and wind that followed.

Through the chaos, Kyle was able to perceive a faint voice carried on the wind: _**Gloria**_!

Mountains that had not existed in Kyle's day were ground down by it, as the shock of the impact split open a deep fault line that had lain dormant for millions of years. The planet shook again, its weak, burnt-away atmosphere replenished, at least for a time. In the distance, the surface split, hot magma spewing forth along with steam.

Steam.

Steam: hydrogen, oxygen.

Even for Kyle – for Eclipse – the process was painfully slow. Atom by atom, the Consciousness picked the parts that it needed, assembling them just so. After all, if It had created a Universe, surely It could create one strand of DNA.

“BE!” The Consciousness calling itself Kyle demanded.

And he was.

Rather, they were.

Before the cracked sheet of the glassy crag, the Dust Devil finally blew away. In its wake, it left a lone figure standing:

Kyle.

He pondered the distorted reflection for only a moment.

“Holy shit, I'm old!”

“Didn't expect that, did you?” Someone else asked, which made Kyle jump and scream in surprise.

He turned to see Eclipse standing there, and to his shock, it was an Eclipse that he did not know.

“You wanna create some clothes, or should I?” Eclipse greeted him, holding out a hand.

“Who the hell are you?” Kyle demanded, still trying to get the hang of having vocal cords and a tongue again.

“I'm you. The Last Eclipse. Give it about... now?” Eclipse asked, and suddenly, there was only one figure standing before the natural mirror.

The Collective came back to him then, as the reformed Eclipse 'caught up with those other guys'.

“We are that which came after!” Eclipse told the funny-looking reflection, lowering his hood and mask, patting the thick, gray Jewfro that covered his head.

_I'd assume you'd just leap into another Kyle, right before you died?_

As he was pondering whether or not to go home, the makeshift mirror began to turn blue. Eclipse spun around, and saw a portal opening.

Kevin Stoley stepped through it, looking all of forty years old, wearing a spacesuit.

“Oh, fuck!” Eclipse groaned, “I thought I smashed the cobalt source in space, before it got to Earth?!”

Kevin yelped in surprise. “YOU!”

“You can take the helmet off, Kevin. There's enough air for the two of us, and it's down to about 140F in the shade, I think!” Eclipse smiled, not having bothered to put his hood back up.

“K-Kyle?” Kevin gasped in surprise. “You! Y-you were the Eclipse all along?”

“Billions of years of all-along,” Kyle took his hand.

“But you died?” Kevin wondered, “Kenny and them would never say how, but we all thought that they knew? That night you just – disappeared?” Kevin thought about it. “You know, I thought it was _me_ , Kyle?” He sat down on a rock.

“Thought...you...what?” Kyle asked.

“I thought it was my tampering that made things go so badly.” Kevin looked all around. “Wow, the red giant phase?”

“Yeah,” Kyle joined him. “You thought it was you?”

“The first time I tested the Discriminator, on a real jump, I came back, and things were kinda...off? Little things, you know. Like Tom's Rhinoplasty was out of business? But when I tweaked it, and tested it again, I mean, I only went like a month or so ahead and back, and then David's restaurant was gone, but Tom's was back? Next thing I know, all kinds of shit is changed! Almost scared me outta keeping up the work, Kyle!”

“It wasn't you, Kevin,” Kyle assured him. “It was me. Me, Korx, and a few others.” He paused for a moment to fully take in this adult Kevin Stoley. “So, where'd you get the cobalt-54?”

“From a meteor that hit in downtown South Park in about the year 2500, I think it was?” Kevin informed him, and Kyle palmed his face. He peeked out through his fingers.

“It didn't hit out on 285?” He held his hands apart. “About so big?”

“No, about half that size. Still took out half the town. I got my sample from this Futurist kid named Korx. Some future Drone-kid that went rogue, and needed a place to hide. I thought he was one of the Goobacks from that one time, remember? He needed a place to hide, so I kinda took him in. Looked really cute in my old clothes. Kinda made me wish I'd had kids.”

“None of that changed?” Kyle smiled, wondering that for all the changes they'd made themselves, a smaller, different meteor crashing into South Park had made little to no difference at all. “There's still time, you know, Kevin. You said that Korx brought you some cobalt?”

“Yeah, don't you remember? He lived with you guys, until-”

“I know,” Kyle smiled again, “I know!”

And he did.

Kyle knew.

It all came back to him once again.

 _Told you it would_! The Other, or perhaps, The New Collective, reminded him.

Kyle yawned.

“You know, there's times I'd wish I'd never invented this thing,” Kevin then sighed. “But then I think, if I went back and stopped my ten year old self, I might blow the universe apart!”

“Then you'd have to rebuild it,” Kyle smiled again, getting a perplexed look from Kevin.

“Uhm, OK?” He looked around again. “Lonely place? I never imagined.”

“You ever read the short story, **The Inn Outside the World** , Kevin?” Kyle asked.

“No?”

“You should. Look, Kev, this place will always be here – well, for a few billion years more. In fact, it's probably gonna be a busy stopover for those that travel in time. Sort of a lonely place, yes, a good place to go for some me-time, you know? Would you mind giving me a lift back? I'm kinda tired.”

“ _When_ you wanna go?” Kevin smiled, punching up the Discriminator on his left wrist.

“How about our Junior year, mid-Autumn, somewhere out on Route 285? Out where the big chronoton surge is,” Kyle asked. “And get ready for one of those little changes again, OK?”

“You wanna go back to the night that you disappeared?” Kevin wondered. He blinked. “You'll change everything that I know, though?”

“You get used to it,” Kyle smiled. “Yeah. I gotta put right one last thing that went wrong.”

Kevin smiled. Eclipse raised his hood, his mask glowing. They joined hands. Kevin opened the portal, and the two vanished into it.

*

Some time after the two left, more comets began slamming into Earth. Perhaps they were attracted by the gravity, or perhaps they were answering some call left behind to bring some semblance of habitability back.

Not long after their departure, a chunk of ice the size of what had been Mt. Everest slammed into the South Pole.

Just a few 'blocks over', in cosmic terms, some of those smaller comets smashed into the polar regions of a much warmer Mars. Already warmed by nearly a billion years of more heat, a small green thing sprouted from the reddish-brown soil.

On the many moons of Jupiter, those large enough to hold an atmosphere, amino acids began revel in the warmth, combining, forming proteins.

*

**PRESENT DAY – The Crash Site on 285**

“What's happened?” Craig asked again, looking up in realization. “I saw...Eclipse? I think?”

“He's gone,” Tweek mumbled, looking confused, “Kyle. He was Eclipse. And he's gone.”

“Tweek?” Craig wondered.

“We crashed,” Tweek nodded sadly, “The _first_ time. And they knew it? Kyle knew it. He...he saved us?” Tweek wiped his face on his sleeve.

“He put right what once went wrong,” Kenny added, “When I couldn't.”

“When I didn't believe it,” Craig admitted. “God, I'm so sorry!”

“K-Kyle?” Stan whimpered, staring at the small dusty spot at the pavement's edge.

There was no blood.

Only a bit of dust, that soon blew away from Stan's fingertips.

They stood in silence yet again, gathered protectively around Stan. For all of them, the initial shock was bad enough. The worst, some of them knew, however, was yet to come: when it really hit them later.

From Red Racer's radio, they could just make out the words to “Hold My Hand.”

“We have to get out of here,” Kenny then advised, “Tweek and Craig need to see the cops, but the rest of us need to GO! Get Stan in the Jeep. I'll drive.”

Stan looked up at the night sky full of stars, dragging his hands across the pavement, tearing them raw.

Stan's hands bled.

Blood stained the pavement once again.

“ **KYLE**!” He screamed again, his anguish echoing across the plain and off of the distant mountains, returning to him.

Stan covered his face, his tears mixing with the bloody, black soot that covered his hands.

“KYLE!” Each fading syllable returned, more painful than the last.

From behind the billboard, The Last Eclipse watched it all again. Upon his arrival, that older Kevin Stoley had gone on his way, citing that it was probably best if he didn't know. As Kevin left and the portal closed, The Last Eclipse became not only The Collective that he had known, but also The Collective that he had not known as the newly formed Timelines began to oscillate and converge into one.

He could hear his own name echoing across the flatland.

It was infinitely worse, Eclipse thought, hearing that cry, than having been torn apart by Time itself.

“Stan?” Eclipse sniffled, lowering his hood and taking in the sight. His chest ached, and a lump rose in his throat as he watched his friends clustered around his own best friend.

“You destroyed Stan, though.”

Stan knelt on the bloodied highway, sobbing. Tweek had run back to Red Racer, to fetch a blanket and some items from Craig's emergency kit. Butters had lit a few flares and patched up the truck driver.

“Ohhhhh, Tweek,” Eclipse breathed, feeling as if the weight of the Universe had just fallen from his shoulders.

“We need to keep Stan warm, he's gone into shock,” Kenny said, taking the blanket, and oddly enough, one of Craig's old chullo hats from Tweek.

“What? It's a spare?” Craig offered.

The yellow poofball looked ridiculous on Stan.

Still, Stan didn't respond. He just sat, staring through is bloody hands, at the pavement.

And Eclipse knew.  
Just as Kyle knew:  
_Stan never recovered from this_.

“Blood?” Kyle then wondered, his mind reaching out carefully. “Of course!”

The last echo of Stan's anguished wail faded away, leaving only the closing sirens to be heard.

“Blood!” Kyle repeated, and surprisingly, he yawned again.

He was so tired.

He'd not felt tired in so very long.

How long ago _had_ the Universe exploded into existence?

Stan's dirty, bloodied hands covered his face as he sobbed, inconsolable.

 _Blood. And black stuff. Stan's blood, and remnants … of me_?

Summoning that which was Eclipse again, and feeling another wave of exhaustion, Kyle's mind studied that black, bloody mess.

DNA.

Fragmented, yes. But a few strings intact.

Strings that varied only slightly from his own newly recreated stock.

“They can't see me like this,” Kyle told himself, “It'll only frighten them.”

Suddenly, he felt so very old.

“Maybe this is why I never saw too much of those older me's before?” Kyle wondered, as memories of what was, and what was _now_ to come, spun through his mind.

_You do this, Kyle, and it could be the end of us._   
_Not the end, just a change._   
_I don't wanna live like this anymore._   
_I don't wanna be all-of-me all of the time._   
_We understand!_

And with that, Eclipse drew up his hood. He concentrated, and his head began to pound. He pixelated away.

 _ **Hold My Hand**_ continued to play from Red Racer's radio. It faded off, as the USB port of the modern retro system switched to the next MP3:

... _ **I finished crying in the instant that you left, and I can't remember where or when or how...It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now**_...

And it did.

It all came back.

... _ **there were moments of gold, and there were flashes of light**_...

From the DNA telomeres in Stan Marsh's blood, and the template of Stan's DNA compared to that with which he'd rebuilt himself, Eclipse began to rebuild himself one final time. The first time, he'd been reborn of water in that clear mountain lake.

This time, he would be – had been – reborn of the fire of a red star.

He just needed a reference point to finish that task.

A little tweak.

He laughed inwardly at his own bad pun.

There then came a reply to Stan's cry: _Stan_ , it whispered from the night, and they all looked up in surprise.

“Did you hear that?” Craig gasped.

“I heard it,” Tweek agreed.

“An echo trick?” Kenny wondered.

“I don't think so,” Keith shook their head.

Stan then sucked in a sharp breath, holding his stained hands out in front of him. His stomach churned. “G-guys, I don't feel so...so good?” Stan stammered.

Only Kenny looked up sharply as the sky flashed in colors that no one else could have seen.

Once again, Time was changing.

From Stan's bloodied palms there began to rise a black vapor, swirling, coalescing into...something.

“Don't move!” Kenny advised, not sure how he knew to say that; he only knew that he knew, as the tiny hairs stood up all over his body.

“Stan,” that ghostly voice whispered again, followed by another voice on the breeze that Kenny, Keith, and perhaps Tweek and Craig, would have recognized.

Yet again, the last syllables of _**Gloria**_ came back to them from some far-off place, as they'd been echoing for all those billions of years.

... _ **I know I'll find you somehow, and somehow I'll return again to you**_... played from Red Racer's stereo.

The vapors continued to emanate from Stan's hands, forming up a black shape before them. It began to take on humanoid form and color, flickering, as if struggling.

_This isn't working!_   
_So tired..._   
_Just a bit more -_   
_\- one last time!_

Kenny then pulled off his glove, and plunged his hand into that form.

The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before, not even in his most gruesome deaths.

A tiny point of light then appeared on his palm. His chest tightened, and he sank to his knees. In that instant, Kenny remembered The Void.

“Hold onto that, Kenny, you'll need it later!”  
“Go!”

His hand began to bleed.

And then Keith placed their hand, already burnt and bleeding from the explosion of their Discriminator into that form.

“I am!” Kyle's voice then said from the flickering form, as it solidified into a teenage boy.

His flawless, perfect hands held Stan's injured ones. On his shoulders rested Kenny's and Keith's hands.

For an instant, just as he realized it, Kyle felt utterly alone: The Collective was gone.

He looked around at his stunned friends.

“Stan?” Kyle asked, surprised at the smooth pitch of his own voice, holding Stan's hands tightly.

It took a moment to register.

“KYLE!” Stan then screamed, throwing himself on his best friend.

Stan and Kyle held one another and sobbed.

For Stan, it had only been a few hellish minutes.

But for Kyle, it had almost literally been Eternity.

The sirens grew louder. Red and blue light was reflecting off the cars and overturned truck.

Butters came running up at the commotion, having given the truck driver the best first aid he could. “HOLY SHIT!” He blurted, upon seeing Kyle.

Tweek cleared his throat nervously as Stan and Kyle finally broke their embrace. Keith did a facepalm. He covered his mouth, looking at Kenny, trying to not laugh. Kenny tried and failed.

“Uhh, Kyle, I think you forgot _some_ thing?” Tweek pointed out, as he and Craig snickered through their own tears.

Kyle saw them standing there, holding one another, weeping. It was beautiful.

 _It was truly enough to sacrifice a Universe for, yes!_ Kyle thought.

Then he realized what they were laughing at.

“Awwwww, shit!” Kyle exclaimed.

Stan smiled. He gave the naked Kyle the blanket. “I think you need this more than I do, Kyle!” He then burst out laughing.

So did Kyle.

“You look silly in that yellow poofball hat!” Kyle informed Stan. “It's worse than the blue and white hemp hat!”

“HEY!” Craig protested.

“And _you're_ the one talking about silly, Kyle?” Stan wondered.

“Yeah, it's just not you,” Keith agreed, adjusting their own hat.

“They're _my_ fuckin' hats,” Craig grumbled.

“You don't wear 'em anymore, anyways, Cupcake,” Tweek reminded him, and Craig blushed. Tweek kissed his cheek.

“Maybe you should start again, _Cup_ cake?” Kenny smirked at Craig, who blushed.

Kyle then turned to Kenny, and it was their turn to share the moment.

“I thought you were gone for good,” Kenny choked, suddenly overcome.

“So did I,” Kyle whispered back, as his knees buckled.

Keith caught him, giving Kenny a hand. For just a second, Kyle stared at Keith. He took a stumbling step forward, and Keith caught him.

Keith held Kyle tightly.

They spoke not a word; there was no need. It was enough to simply be together again.

Time had _finally_ resumed its normal shape, Kyle realized.

Everything was just as it should be.

As it once had been.

“Like I said, we need to get out of here,” Kenny reminded them. “You can tell us about it later, Kyle. I guess you need a lift?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Kyle mumbled, suddenly feeling hardly able to keep his eyes open. “I think I'm pretty much _done_.”

“Done?” Kenny wondered. “As in, Eclipse?”

“I think he's gone,” Kyle nodded. “Or, _they're_ gone.”

Just before the police arrived, Butters and Kenny got Kyle into the Jeep. Kenny drove, with Butters at shotgun, as Stan wasn't feeling too good either. Kyle sat between him and Keith in the back seat. They also left Tweek and Craig to make a report to the police, and to call a tow truck for Red Racer. The Troopers, of course, were very interested to hear about the tan minivan that had caused the accident, as one had been reported stolen in Denver that morning. Somehow, the driver recalled the license plate number, registered to one Liane Cartman.

“We can identify the driver,” Craig and Tweek both told the Troopers, as did the driver: “Eric Cartman.”

“Ah,” The Trooper agreed, “Sounds familiar? Grand theft auto, speeding, reckless driving, leaving the scene of an accident that's causing bodily injury, property damage, driving without ever having received a license-”

“Attempted murder,” Craig added.

“DO tell?” The Trooper grinned. “Well, I'd say that's the end of _him_ , then?”

Butters had also left Tweek and Craig the Impala to continue on to Denver.

“You knew?” Tweek asked, after a few miles of silence.

Craig nodded. “Remember four in the morning, when I barged into your hourse, all dirty and hysterical? I saw it then, Tweek, when we were twelve. Of _course_ I knew.”

“And you didn't tell Kenny?” Tweek gasped in surprise, “Craig, he was trying to prevent-”

“I slid under the trailer, didn't I?” Craig interrupted.

“WITH SOME HELP FROM ECLIPSE!” Tweek shouted at him, smacking his arm.

“Well, how do I know it didn't work the _first_ time?” Craig protested. “You think I'm too dumb to not ask Kevin Stoley how to break a closed causality loop in time?”

“ARGH!” Tweek growled in frustration. “As soon as we get to the hotel, I'm gonna-”

“Yeeeees?!” Craig smiled at him, braces flashing.

“EYES ON THE ROAD, CUPCAKE!”

*

The rest of them rode back to South Park in Stan's Jeep, Kenny relishing the thought that he would not be going to Kyle's house that night to deliver bad news.

Instead, Stan and Keith delivered Kyle to his distraught mother, and then to bed.

Keith joined him, after helping Kyle into his red pyjamas.

“You kept the agender form? Nice!” Keith whispered in Kyle's ear.

“Yeah,” Kyle mumbled, “Glad you like it, 'cause I think I'm stuck with it.”

“The others?” Keith asked.

“Quiet,” Kyle answered softly, as he drifted off to sleep.

Downstairs, Stan had made up a story for Mrs. Broflovski, who immediately ordered him into the bath, with a spare set of Kyle's pyjamas for later. Naturally, he blamed it all on Craig.

As he soaked in the hot bath, Stan noticed that his hands were mostly healed. He stared at them for a moment, then burst into tears again.

“That Craig Tucker!” Sheila exclaimed, when Stan was done and she was getting him into bed in the guest room. “That boy is a bad influence, Stanley! I'll call Sharon, all right?”

“Don't bother, Ma'am,” Stan sighed, as he closed his eyes. “It's just a fender-bender. It's not the end of the world.”

“I'll bet Kyle's got one hell of a story to tell,” Kenny mused, perched on the shadowy windowsill, still in his ragged costume.

“I can't believe you guys followed, dressed up like that,” Keith reminded them. “Good thing you came in the window – Mom's freaked out enough as it is!”

“The night is young!” Butters answered in the voice of Chaos. “Shall we?” He gestured at the window.

“Let's!” Mysterion agreed, “The night is young, and so are _we_!”

And out they went.

“Oh, hamburgers!” Chaos complained, as they hit the ground, “There's a stinkin' rosebush down here! Ouch! Ohhh, I _hate_ rosebushes, Mysterion! Oh, I snagged my legging!”

“Hold still, you've got a twig stuck in y-”

“OWWW!”

Keith snickered once, but Kyle was already fast asleep. Keith kissed Kyle's forehead.

“And I'm still here,” Keith smiled to themself.

The room was quiet.

They slept.

Out on Route 285, a blue Impala headed on to Denver for a very important conference that would, no doubt, affect the lives of a great number of confused kids. In its wake, the dust of a vaporized meteorite blew away on the night breeze, never to reform.

Moments later, and two caped figures in fresh costumes appeared on the rooftop of the low income high-rise in the new _**Sodosopa**_. The bright moon silhouetted them as they gazed out over the town of South Park, Colorado – waiting.

 _Oh, I'm not done with the two of you, yet_! Some Other told them both.

**E P I L O G U E**

Anyone who didn't know the boys wouldn't have suspected a thing about them. They were simply a dozen or so high-schoolers, headed up the front walk on a Monday morning. They all had different haircuts, and they all dressed in different styles.

None of them wore hats, except for one, who wore a blue chullo with a yellow poofball on top.

One of the boys in a blue jacket tripped over the humped-up crack in the sidewalk, and the boy in the orange jacket caught him.

“Klutz!” Kenny McCormick laughed, “Legs that long, hiking shoes, and you can't walk _yet ?_ Rough weekend?”

Craig Tucker playfully flipped him off.

“I'd call it a success,” Tweek grinned, pulling a new yellow poofball hat from his jacket pocket and cramming it down over Craig's eyes.

“All right, you lot - listen up!” The tall man with the sunglasses confronted them at the doors, “You all ready to present that report on the Denver Conference, at assembly today?”

“Yes, sir!” Tweek and Craig both smiled at him.

“You're wearing a _hat_ , Tucker?” PC Principal observed.

“It seemed to be the thing to do today, sir!” Craig nodded.

“And what about you two, for the nonbinary segment?” PC Principal asked of Kyle and Keith. “That's a _fas_ cinating fashion statement there, _Boys_? If I may?”

“It's cool, for _today_ , sir!” Keith nodded happily at him.

“Can't say as to tomorrow,” Kyle added, “But yeah, I think we're ready, sir!”

Stan and Keith steadied Kyle as they mounted the front steps, as Kyle was still a little wobbly. Craig held the door, and when they'd all entered, he took the stairs two at a time.

At the end of the row of lockers, Bill and Fossie were laughing at Terrance Mephesto, who was having problems with a bad lock.

“Hello, Stan,” Wendy Testaburger smiled, as she came up to take his arm. Bebe did the same with Clyde, as did Nicole with Token.

“When did you say that Clyde and Bebe, uhm...?” Kyle whispered to Keith.

“Junior Prom night,” Keith whispered back, blushing. “And we _need_ that one, so we have to make sure that Clyde gets laid.”

Kyle blushed as well.

“Any big surprises today, Kyle?” Butters asked anxiously, both eyes sparkling behind new rectangular frames.

Kyle smiled back at him, swallowing a laugh and nearly choking. “I honestly have no clue, Butters!”

PC Principal then placed a familiar hand on Kenny's shoulder.

“That rep from Colorado State is here to see you, Ken,” the man informed him. “Why didn't you tell me you sneaked off for a PSAT? Dude?! A 1476?”

“The future just ain't what it used to be, sir!” Kenny smiled back at him, as the first bell of the day rang.

In the Auto Mechanics garage, Red Racer sat waiting. She was a little dirty, and her turbocharger was blown. Her back tires were a bit worse for wear, but other than that, she was in pristine condition.

The skies were clear and sunny.

“Fuck! I'm glad that's over with!” A young man with disheveled black hair sighed in relief, watching the boys from behind a large tree out front. “What say we go get a cup'a coffee, Kev?”

“Sounds good to me, J.C.!” Kevin Stoley agreed, scratching his ear, topped by a shock of graying hair.

“Shall we get it to go, and drink it at The Inn?” The man in black with the puffy gray hair asked. “I don't recall Tucker having seen The Inn yet? I know a lovely spot with some good atmosphere!”

The other two booed his joke.

One flash of blue light later, and they were gone.

**T H E   E N D**

*****

_**Ending  Credits  Scene**_ :

“All right, no screwin' around in here!” Mr. Adler shouted at the rowdy bunch in the garage, “Today, we all get to learn what happens to a turbocharged engine, when it overloads! Don't we, TUCKER?!” From the corridor, there came a 'honk'. “Damn band geeks wouldn't know a tuba from a torque wrench!” Adler complained.

“Yes, sir!” Craig Tucker flipped him off, but Mr. Adler had just turned his back when the door squeaked open.

A frightened-looking, short seventh-grader with black hair stood there, staring around with wild eyes. He wore a sky-blue jacket and red mittens, and on his left wrist, a large diver's watch sparked and crackled with blue static before going dark. Then handle of a light saber stuck out of his jacket pocket.

“What the hell do _you_ want?” Mr. Adler asked.

“Is that...?” Clyde Donovan wondered, having just removed Red Racer's air breather.

“ _Kevin_?” Token Black raised an eyebrow.

From under an older VW Jetta, two others slid out on car creepers.

“It's not _my_ fault, Kyle! The clutch was old!” Keith protested.

Then they looked up at the boy in the doorway.

Stan looked up from the under the Jetta's hood and dropped his wrench on the floor, mouth agape.

Cory Durant and Gary Borkovec nearly fell off their stools at the parts counter.

Craig Tucker looked around at them all. “No, no, no, no, no!” He held up his hands.

Kenny McCormick returned from the attached restroom and paused in the doorway, his jaw dropped.

From the music rooms down the hallway came Butters, Tweek, Pip, and Trent – who was in town because he just couldn't miss Halloween.

“Hehe! Hi, guys! It...worked?” Twelve year old Kevin Stoley offered lamely.

“See? Well, I _told_ ya's it was him!” Butters exclaimed.

“Awwwww, shiiiiit!” Those who knew then exclaimed.

From Red Racer's stereo, a hard guitar rift played.

**FIN**

**(?)**

 


End file.
